24th Hunger Games SYOT
by isobeljones2000
Summary: Welcome to the 24th Annual Hunger Games everybody! This is a SYOT so you can send me your tributes and see them featured in this story. (Closed) The arena has been drastically altered in such a way that no one has ever seen before: an abandoned city. But what lurks in the side streets of the deadly unknown? Only one thing's for sure - only one person's coming out alive...
1. Tribute Application form

Hey there! This is the application form if you want to send in a tribute! Please be as detailed and as creative as possible and make sure the characters are believable. You can send up to 3 tributes, though if you do at least one has to die in the Bloodbath. I hope you enjoy!

Name:

Age:

District:

Appearance (detailed)

Personality (detailed)

Family:

History:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

What life is like in their district:

Reaped/Volunteered:

Reaction to reaping:

Opening Ceremony Outfit:

Interview outfit and angle:

Strategy:

Preferred weapon:

Bloodbath (some have to die initially)

Alliances:

Love interests:


	2. Tributes taken so far

Tributes taken so far:

District 1 Female: Abigail Bahau, aged 17 by Mykindleisawesome /

District 1 Male: Apollo Trent, aged 15 by Inthedeepbluesea /

District 2 Female: Acadia Rosen, aged 18 by Obviously Entei /

District 2 Male: Lucian Marble, aged 18 by Inthedeepbluesea /

District 3 Female: Olivia Daunt, aged 12 by Oceana /

District 3 Male: Liam Bolt, aged 14 by Coleto98 /

District 4 Female: Aquata Song, aged 16, by Inthedeepbluesea /

District 4 Male: Poseidon Ingar, aged 18, by epictomguy /

District 5 Female: Elise Misa, aged 17 by xRuex /

District 5 Male: Tristan Port, aged 12 by Coleto98 /

District 6 Female: Aria Lumen, aged 14 by Iris Hunt /

District 6 Male: Jacen Vernal, aged 15 by Behold-Lord Voldemort /

District 7 Female: Scarlett Johannes, aged 17 by Mykindleisawesome /

District 7 Male: Flynn Woods, aged 16 by Iris Hunt /

District 8 Female: Andromeda Robins, aged 15 by Mykindleisawesome /

District 8 Male: Maroka Ring, aged 16 by Kopycat101 /

District 9 Female: Evangelina Lombardi, aged 15 by Coleto98

District 9 Male: Samuel Salazar, aged 16 by Coleto98

District 10 Female: Adair Clark, aged 13 by Behold-Lord Voldemort

District 10 Male: Jared Darling, aged 17 by Moist Larry

District 11 Female: Taz Zoya, aged 17 by Moist Larry

District 11 Male: Tomas Sansley, aged 13 by President Snowflake

District 12 Female: Nasha Black, aged 18 by Moist Larry

District 12 Male: Sage Mathews, aged 13 by DaughterOfApollo7

Thanks for your help! As soon as I have all 24 tributes I can begin, though I may start the reapings if I have both tributes from a district early. Please help me make this amazing!

And - that's it! No one send me any more tributes please, as the places are now filled! It may take me a while longer to write all the Reapings as I've just started back at school, so please be patient with me. Thank you for everyone who sent in tributes and I hope you stay tuned for the rest of this!


	3. Prologue

? POV: I look out over the glowing water, my face contorting in what may be a smile for the first time since I came here. It seems odd, unreal, that it's finally over. Well not 'over' exactly, I doubt it will ever be truly over. The Hunger Games may never be over for some people, never for me. I know I will never be able to forget. Such horrors. Such terrible things to see. To witness. To commit.

The city is slowly burning, the last shards of glass littered over the ground and sparkling with the light of the fire flickering nearby. Flames lick over the dilapidated metal roofs, hungrily eating away at their prey. Everyone is gone now. Everyone except me.

The final cannon fires, and I see the last life slipping away below me. Those glazed eyes, unseeing in a final moment of peace. I know I will soon be out of here, back in the shining Capitol where what I have done is treated as glorious, something special. And then I'll be back home. Home. Now my heart aches for something normal and everyday to truly get me out of this nightmare. First I'll have to endure hours of cheering and interviews and shining clothes - an unreal prospect after what I have just taken part in. The Capitol have no idea what it does to us. No idea at all.

I hear the buzzing of a drone overhead and know they've come to collect me. I try a smile again, knowing I'll need it for the crowds. I just about summon one, though it probably looks crazy to people watching. The makeup artists will sort that out. I sigh, maybe in relief, maybe just to let it all go.

My last thought before the ladder drops down and I return to the shining world is: 'I'm the winner of the 24th Hunger Games.'

I now have both tributes from District 1 so I will write the first reapings now! I plan to write all the reapings in order so the sooner I get District 2 tributes, the sooner I will write that. Thanks for everyone who is sending me tributes, I really appreciate it, and keep them coming!


	4. Chapter 1 - District 1 Reapings

**Chapter One - District 1 Reapings**

**Name: **Abigail Bahau

**Age: **17

**District: **1

I run a hand through my flowing ruby red hair, reaching down to my waist and hanging in perfectly styled waves down my back. If I flick it you can catch a glimpse of platinum blonde somewhere in there, giving it its extra sparkle. Flicking it now with one perfectly manicured slender hand, I watch in satisfaction as my long locks fall back onto my back. I love my hair.

My green eyes glint on the surface of the mirror that I'm staring into as I remember what is coming up tomorrow. The reaping. And I'm gonna volunteer. Lots of training awaits me today, to prepare me for the future that I am choosing for myself. Or what my family is choosing for me.

I hear a frustrated murmur on the other side of the door and smile. Every morning I'm always the first to get in here, and every morning my sister Ruby has to wait outside for me to finish my shower and brush my hair - and I have a lot of hair. Even now, when I'm finished, I always prolong the wait just a little longer, just enough to get my sister furious with me. Then, when she is about to yell at the door - I can hear the sharp intake of breath even now - I will saunter out, flash my pearly perfect smile at her and go down for breakfast. It's a routine, of sorts. I do this now, opening the door just when she is about to scream at me and smile at her sweetly. Ruby has short cropped golden hair and shares my green eyes. She's been trying to grow her hair out for ages and, although she'll never admit it, not in a million years, she's way jealous of mine. Her glare says it all, and she sweeps past me not saying a word.

"See you at breakfast, Ruby!" I say sweetly and walk down the spiral staircase I stand next to. The only thing my sister has that I would kinda like is her beautiful tan, inherited from our father. I take all my looks after my mother, so I have to lather on sun cream whenever it's bright out as my pale skin burns easily.

"Morning my darling Abi," my mother says as I join her on a sunbed outside on the deck. She is fanning herself with a palm tree leaf and looks relaxed as she sips from a cocktail. My mother is all about the pampered life, she never really lifts a finger to do anything. That, Ruby definitely inherited. Me, not so much.

"Morning mother," I answer respectfully. Her eyes are closed in bliss as the cool air washes over her in waves. I close my eyes too and reach for a cocktail.

"It's the Reaping tomorrow. We need to go out and get you a new dress," my mother decides. I shake my head.

"No mother, I can't. I need to train. You know that."

"Have you done your Greek verbs homework yet?" I shake my head, realising I am unable to remember even a single Greek verb at the moment. My mother looks at me reproachfully. But she knows I have trouble with that sort of thing. I can't make those sorts of facts stick in my head. Sure, I can remember important things, like seven different ways to break someone's wrist from ten metres away, or all the different techniques for a double sided sword combat, but Greek verbs? I can't make myself particularly care about the school lessons I have five times a week. Who really cares about the difference between λύνω and θα έλυare? Not me. And if I am accepted into the Hunger Games, I won't even have to give in that homework!

Her eyes are remorseful as she shrugs, nodding at the same time. She knows how winning the Hunger Games is important to me. Just then my father comes out onto the deck, his face is a frown. I don't take it personally, his natural look is a scowl. "Shouldn't you be training?" He asks me sternly. I nod and get up off the sunbed, stretching my long legs and arms out and coming over to him.

"Three hours, then you can come home and we can sort out your outfit for tomorrow," Mother tells me.

"Sure thing," I answer sardonically, lifting my hand in a wave goodbye as I follow my father back through our mansion and out to the training room in the back. I see my favourite weapon out in front of me first, a double sided sword. Picking it up, I slash it at the air as a test of its weight. My father sits at the side as he does every day, and leaves me to train. I know my routine by now, half an hour of sword fighting with the rubber dummies on the east wall, an hour of cardio, twenty minutes of weightlifting and an hour and ten minutes of hand to hand combat on my fighting simulator that I got for my fifteenth birthday. Weightlifting is the hardest for me, my upper body strength isn't as egood as my leg strength. But my favourite is the hand to combat. I 'kill' every enemy on the simulator, slashing and moving as people run at me. By the end of it all I'm sweating hard, but feel I'm ready for anything. Hunger Games, here I come...

* * *

><p><strong>Name: <strong>Apollo Trent

**Age: **15

**District: **1

Spinning on the spot, faster and faster, my leg stretched out straight behind me, I finish the routine with a flourish, stopping and throwing out my arms and staying there for moment. My mum's silvery voice interrupts, sounding pleased.

"Well done Apollo! That s nearly perfect. Your gracefulness has really improved."

I relax my body, letting my arms drop down by my sides and brushing my shaggy blond hair out of my eyes. My mother comes over to me, her short blond hair swishing against her dimpled cheeks and a wide smile. Her bright blue eyes stare into mine, so similar to my own. She is a ballerina, and teaches dance at the District 1 Dance Academy, where I am now. I flash her a smile. However gruff I may be towards her, she is sweet and kind to me.

"I can hardly believe you're going into the Hunger Games today, in just one hour..." she muses, sadness in her eyes. My mind flashes back to this morning, when I got up early to train for four hours. District 1 Reapings are typically in the late afternoons, to give the spoilt pampered kids time to get all decked out in their posh outfits. Not that I can judge, I'm technically one of the spoilt rich kids too. The only difference is that I'm not bothering with silk clothes and complex hairdos. As soon as we get there we'll be stripped down to the flesh and made up anyway, what's the point in doing it twice in one day?

"How's my strong lad?" A booming voice interrupts, and I turn to see my father striding into the academy training room, his face proud and smiling.

"Fine Dad," I answer. He claps me on the shoulder. "My Victor of the Hunger Games. You're gonna do great, son. You'll bring glory to this family. Won't you?"

"Yes." That is and has always been the correct answer where my father is concerned. He is the one who got me to train every day since I was young, ready for the Hunger Games. Ready to kill people.

"Are you sure he's not too young? He could wait another few years, until he's seventeen or eighteen, older and stronger." That's my mum, always worried about my safety.

"Nonsense. Don't forget, he can be the youngest victor of District 1 yet!" My father's dream is for me to be the youngest boy to win the Hunger Games. I share that dream, it will be amazing to lead the Careers. The District 1 male always leads the Careers, though it's normally an older boy of seventeen or eighteen who gets the spot. Well I'm here to change that. I'm just as cruel and violent as the others, and I'm not afraid to kill.

"Let's go," I say, urgent to get there so I can be early and in the front spot. My father laughs, his booming voice echoing around the large training room and leads out. I feel my hair being ruffled by my mother, and I catch up to my dad, putting on a confident saunter beside him. My dad is one of the richest people in District 1, and being his son makes me one of the most popular guys in school. I give a wave to a group of giggling girls who all wave back, blushing and wishing me luck in tittering voices. It's no secret that they're all hopelessly in love with me. I have had a number of girlfriends already, but no one who really floated my boat. I want someone really sexy, a pretty girl who has a bit of confidence instead of being giggly and mad like those girls. Not that I'll ever let them know that. It's nice to have them hoping.

I get to the front of the fifteen year old group, winking at a few girls near me and standing up tall. Luckily I'm already quite tall, so my size will give me an advantage in leading the most lethal group known. I can't see my parents from where I am, but that doesn't matter. I'm on my own now. Independent and alone.

As the pens fill up, a female voice is projected over the crowds, sending up a cheer from everyone. The Reaping is a celebration here.

"Welcome, welcome everybody. Right, I know you're all excited about the reaping of this year's tributes." I snort, trying to hold back a laugh. Everyone knew there was hardly a Year when people actually got reaped here in District 1, there was always volunteers. That was for the inferior districts.

"So let's reap the female tribute first." The crowd goes silent suddenly and the only sound heard is the clicking of the woman's massive high heels on the stage as she struts over to the tributes names dish and reaches her hand inside...

"Penelope Ad..."

"I volunteer!" calls a confident voice from the crowd. No one is surprised. A tall curvy girl steps out from the crowd amid cheering and whooping for her. Her hair is really long, bright red and wavy, and her eyes are a deep emerald green, like mine. She walks up to the stage, she is wearing a short red dress and high heels that complement her hair perfectly. She's gorgeous.

"And what's your name?" The woman asks the girl with a smile on her face. The girl waits for a moment to build up suspense, then steps forward to the crowd and grins. "Hey, I'm Abigail Bahau, but call me Abi. I'm seventeen and I'm going to win the Hunger Games." There's a cheer again, people in District 1 love confidence, the more, the better. I grin too. This girl has spunk. But she wasn't going to win. She'd make a good ally though. Until I killed her off.

"Thank you Abi. Now for the male tribute..." She puts her hand into the glass bowl and pulls out a piece of paper. Before she can even utter the words written there I am stepping forward, like my father told me.

_Be fast, faster than anyone else. They all want to be a part of it, you have to be fast._

"Geor -"

"I volunteer!" I shout, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. I'm doing it! I'm living my dream!

She smiles at me and offers her hand to help me up to the stage. There is cheering, a lot of cheering for me. I feel proud and cocky, and wink at plenty of girls who gaze into my eyes from the crowd before standing next to the woman.

"What's your name, then?" she asks.

I step forward and grin cockily. "Hey there, I'm Apollo Trent. I'm fifteen and I plan to win the Hunger Games for glory and plenty of fun."

"Thank you Apollo. Right everyone! We have our two tributes from District 1! Shake hands, please." I face the girl - Abi. I've seen her sometimes in the training centre in the middle of town. She looks cool and calm as she shakes my hand, then lets go quickly. I wink at her and she looks faintly surprised, but rolls her eyes at me. I grin. This girl will be a lot of fun.


	5. Chapter 2 - District 2 Reapings

**Chapter Two - District 2 Reapings**

**Name: **Acadia Rosen

**Age: **18

**District: **2

The club feels pleasingly heavy in my hands as I swing it forcefully round into the dummy, feeling the crunch of what would have been the collar bone if I was fighting a real opponent. The spiked end is lodged firmly now in the rubber casing of the practise fighter. I sigh in frustration and go over to tug it out. It only needs one hard yank from me to shift it, I have strong muscled arms. I drop the club on the ground and run one hand through my cropped inky black hair. I chopped it short a few months ago and it seems to work. I don't really know or care whether it looks particularly good, I'm not in the habit of looking regularly in mirrors. I'm not that sort of girl.

I decide that I'm done for the day and wipe the accumulated sweat, grit and dirt from my forehead with one hand, the cinnamon coloured skin of my arm blending with the dirt so it can't be seen. Leaving the club lying on the ground - it wouldn't be a great idea to go walking around carrying a spiked club - I stride out of the training centre, my long muscled legs barely aching as I stretch them out. I'm walking fast, I want to get home to see my family. I'm volunteering for the Hunger Games tomorrow so I want to spend at least some time with them.

I notice people staring at me from the corner of my eye but ignore them. With my nearly-but-not-quite seven foot tall figure and dark brooding features including my stormy grey eyes - it makes sense that people are intimated by me. I've had that for as long as I can remember, it's no surprise. Plus, I really don't care what people think of me. At all. As long as they leave me alone, they will get no complaints from me. Though I have had a few people mistake me for a male sometimes. I suppose it makes sense, though it can get kind of irritating.

I reach my home, it's a fairly large house near the centre of town that my grandmother owns and that we all live in together. I use my key to let myself in the side door, the front door I never use. It's too grand and I don't particularly like going in that way. When I come in the first person I see is Crystal, my younger sister, bouncing around in the kitchen. The active twelve year old is basically a tomboy, never stops running around and loves getting dirty. She has short black hair and a ready grin. She also looks up to me and is the only person who can actually make me smile.

"Hi Acadia!" Crystal greets me, giving me a hug around the waist. I'm not one for displays of unnecessary affection at the best of times, but I awkwardly pat her on the shoulder.

"Hey Crys." I move round her and drop my sagging black backpack on the ground. Crys is used to my apparent coldness towards her and bounces after me regardless,chattering at me happily. She knows I don't always listen to her actively, I'm not known for my people skills. But Crys doesn't really mind.

"I'll miss you when you're competing in the Hunger Games, Aca." It's common knowledge that I'm going to volunteer this year, I'm at the maximum age and this will be my final year. I give her a pat on the shoulder and go into the living room where my mother sits eating a salad. My mother Jasmine doesn't work, she doesn't need to. We're one of the richest families in the district. But she smiles warmly at me when I enter.

"Good evening Acadia. A good afternoon of training?"

"Yes thanks mother," I answer gruffly. Jasmine gets up and hugs Crys, then goes into the kitchen, probably to cook tea or something. I exchange a look with Crys, then we both go into the next room where my grandmother sits in her large armchair reading the newspaper. She doesn't seem to notice us coming in, but she does turn and give us both a curt nod when we come close. Olivia Rosen is very serious and structured and spends a lot of time alone, but she does love us, just shows it in her own way. I make a point of going to greet her every day, just to see her. Plus she owns our house so it makes sense to be on the good side of her.

"How long training today, Acadia?" Grandmother asks me crisply.

"Four hours. I think I'm ready for the Hunger Games," I answer.

"No one is ever ready for the Hunger Games. It's brutal. But you have trained hard and you will do well." This is a compliment from my grandmother.

"And...I'm proud of you." I'm surprised by this statement, heartfelt feelings don't often come from my stern stiff grandmother. And she's not great at displaying personal feelings, exactly like me. She pats my shoulder awkwardly then turns back to reading. I know the conversation is over. But I'm strangely satisfied.

I find myself wishing for another set of compliments, ones that only a certain person could give me. My father always said I was special, the best. And for a while, I believed that, even though District 2 was a Career district and there were a lot of wanna-bes. But how special could I have been if he left? My father left just after Crystal was born, something which I have never been able to forgive him for. It's been twelve years since I've seen him, other people might be swayed in that time and forgive him. But I have a very long memory. And I never forget. There have been benefits, such as moving in with the richest woman in District 2 and getting private tutors so I don't have to go to school and intimidate people every day, and getting the Career training, how to fight and how to kill. I enjoy my life, but I never get to actually use my training. Thats why I'm going into the Hunger Games.

*the next morning*

I stand tall and proud at the back of the eighteens group, not needing to mill around or look over peoples shoulders as I'm tall enough to see over everyone. It gives me an advantage, it gives me disadvantages. The man at the front is chirping happily about glory and celebration and some people are sucking it up. I tap my foot, impatient to get away.

_When will he stop talking?_

At last he goes over to the glass bowl and puts his hand deep inside, feeling around for names. He pulls one out, holding it aloft. The name of course doesn't matter, we are a Career district. It's inevitable.

"Ale -"

"I volunteer as tribute," I call, my deep voice resonating over the crowd. Calmly and stoically I stride up to the front, holding my head high. I can see Crystal cheering for me and crack a smile before going up to stand next to the man. I tower over him. Of course.

"Er..." He doesn't know what to say. In annoyance I take over, stepping forward a foot and announcing to the crowd.

"Hello, I'm Acadia Rosen. I'm 18 and I plan to win the Hunger Games. Thank you." Some people try to be funny or endearing or just plain cocky when they volunteer, I just prefer to state the facts. Being the one that they love won't matter to me when I'm fighting for my life.

"Okay -" the man pauses then launches back into his cheery charade. "Lets pick out the male tribute!"

* * *

><p><strong>Name:<strong> Lucian Marble

**Age: **18

**District: **2

I sit in the tree, my legs dangling through the thick branches. I feel like I am cocooned in my own little world. It's strangely peaceful, up here, just my book and me. I can see right over District 2 from here, see where the Reaping is going to be. Already see people congregating around that area. It reminds me that we have to be there soon unfortunately enough.

I try to brush back my wavy black hair that probably needs cutting, trying to make it sort of presentable. The good thing about living out here, on the edge of the district, is that I don't have to make myself look presentable too often. Thieves generally don't. Cheering comes up from the main area where the Reaping is and I know we have to go soon.

_C'mon Iris, where are you?_ I think in annoyance, trying to pretend I'm normal and excited about the prospect of another two children dying in the Hunger Games chosen today. But really I hope Iris will be too long getting supplies from empty houses for tonight's tea so we have an excuse of not going.

"Lucian!" I groan. There's that chance out the window. From my perch I can see my sister's blonde hair bouncing at her shoulders. How she manages to make her hair look good for these things is a mystery to me. She is carrying bread and some form of meat. The good thing about the Reaping is that all the houses are abandoned at this time so it's easy to slip in and steal food.

"Lucian, c'mon. We have to go." She evidently hasn't spotted me yet. I rub my good eye, trying to pretend I've been asleep, then hop down from the tree, landing a few metres in front of my sister. Her purple eyes look into my one good eye of the same shade. It's hard to believe she's fifteen now. I've looked after her since she was eight, when our parents died. We have no home, no stable source of food, no nothing.

"Ready?" Her voice is soft. I know, despite her urgency to get going, she's nervous. We both are. If she's taken, I don't know what I'll do. I give her a quick squeeze on the shoulder.

"I'm ready, I. We better go." I feel reluctant, knowing how much tesserae I've had to take out over the years without my sister's knowledge. She thinks I steal it, as we do all our food. Taking tesserae in District 2 is an uncommon occurrence, as most families here are rich, and want to volunteer anyway. I try to do it surreptitiously, but I know, without it, we wouldn't have survived this long. So taking into account my age, and the extra times my name will be in there, how many chances will I have?

I rub my eyepatch out of habit. Iris notices and looks away. That's right, I have an eyepatch over my left eye. I train with my sister most of the time, and the one time we were doing hand to hand combat - one of my greatest weaknesses - I couldn't block her attack and she hit my eye. She will feel guilty forever about that. I smile a quick smile at her and start off down the hill, thanking my long legs. I am quite well built and muscly so I will be prepared for the Hunger Games if I'm chosen.

I can hear the beginning of the ceremony from up here. Iris meets my eye and we start to run, down the hill to get to the town centre. Luckily it's not too far away and we enter it just in time to hear him say: "Lets pick out the female tribute!"

Both Iris and I duck under the rope of our seperate pens and stand at the back, pretending we've been here all along. I just catch a glimpse of Iris before the crowd jostles and she is shoved from my view. I can see the man on the stage reaching his hand into the glass bowl and pulling out a name.

The world seems to slow to a halt.

_Please not Iris, please not Iris, please not Iris..._

"Ale..."

"I volunteer as tribute!" I hear a voice shout. My world speeds up again, back to normal speed. I see the volunteer climbing up onto the stage, her head held high and her face expressionless. She even gives someone a small smile before standing next to the man, a family member maybe. There is a silence, before she steps forward and speaks. I don't really concentrate on the words, my mind already thinking ahead to tonight. We always have a small feast after Reapings, up on our hill while watching the District 2 Reaping train speed off to the Capitol. I think how Iris and I will laugh and have fun, just us two up on our hill. Cheering surrounds me as the girl finishes speaking and the man announces something else.

"Let's pick out the male tribute!" He reaches into the glass bowl and reads off the paper held out in front of him. I barely register the words.

"Lucian Marble."

_Me?_

My mind is numb as I wait for someone to volunteer, to take over my role. But I hear no one. How is that even possible? Someone _always _volunteers. This is District 2. A moment passes before the man shouts: "Lucian Marble."

At that moment I know I'm the one. I'm in the Hunger Games. The half-blind antisocial boy that no one knows. I step out of the crowd and know looking scared won't help me. So I put a look of feigned confidence, despite feeling exactly the opposite. As I walk up onto the stage, the crowd erupts in cheers and I can't help feeling excited. No one has ever cheered for me like this before.

I face the crowd and say loudly yet calmly: "Hi, I'm Lucian Marble. I'm 18. And I hope to win the Hunger Games." I had never considered even entering the Hunger Games so this last statement was a lie, but I realised that if I did win, my sister and I would never have to worry about food again. I'd be a Victor. And I will be one of the Careers, so I have a chance. Still, spotting my sister's shocked face in the crowd is a horrible gut-wrenching feeling for me. I might never see her again.

"Thank you very much. Let's hear it for Lucian Marble and Acadia Rosen! Tributes, shake hands." I grasp the girl's hand, realising that this will be the first time I've ever 'held hands' with a girl, if you could call it that. Other than my sister. Her grey eyes were cold and emotionless and I felt immediately scared of this girl who was the same age as me. We pulled apart and the man gestured to the door leading to the Tributes Building. I walked next to the incredibly tall Acadia until we were out of public view.

Only when I am in the Male Tribute room and hugging my sister can I let myself cry. I promise her I will win. But can I have a hope? I have trained, sure, but not to kill. But I have no choice now. I am in the Hunger Games.


	6. Chapter 3 - District 3 Reapings

**Chapter 3 - District 3 Reapings**

**Name: **Olivia Daunt

**Age: **12

**District: **3

My knees are curled up in front of me and I hold them close, trying to hide as much of my face as I can with my stringy blonde hair that only reaches to around my chin. Doing this makes me feel invisible to the world, that's the way I like it. Wondering if my father will be home today as a rare act of kindness, I look around at people, setting up for the Reaping. Setting up for a glorious occasion where children get killed. I am terrified of the Hunger Games, terrified of even watching it on the tv. It's so violent and scary...

"Oy! Get off there!" I hear a male voice yell, and I scramble off fast. I was sitting up on the embankment, hidden by thin half-dead trees and wilting grass. The Peacekeepers don't like people like me hanging round. They think I'm a beggar. But I'm not, not really. Even though I have a house, it is never my home. I don't live there, my father is never around and -

_Oh Mama. I wish you were here_. My mother died two years ago, and I have no siblings. Mama was the only one who made me feel special, unique and loved. Mainly because I shared so many similarities with her, my cold green eyes, my sickly skinny body and my pallid features. She understood me like no one else possibly could. I can hear her voice now: "Don't worry Livvy. I'll always be there for you."

And now she's gone.

Hobbling slowly across the courtyard, not bothering to rush, I head in the direction of home. One of my legs is slightly shorter than the other so I have a permanent limp. People passing me, as usual, smile at me, but I know from the pity in their eyes. They pity me, so they act kind to me. I've grown used to it. I'm not popular and most of the time I stay out of the way of others. I have one friend in school, but she's as weak and pitiful as me. We're sort of a weird alliance in a way. We stick together for the company, but neither of us is great at socialising. The only reason I go to school is that I'm not bad at schoolwork, just because I'm useless at anything physical doesn't mean my brain doesn't work.

I make my way slowly through the back streets, navigating my way easily until I see my house. There are no lights on in there. That means that no one is there, meaning my father hasn't come home. Not that I was really expecting him to. But still, tears well up in my eyes. I really thought he would come home for the Reaping at least. For me.

Not long until the Reaping. Just time enough to put my Reaping outfit on, a simple cotton white dress that at least covers my knees so I don't look too awkward. I brush my hair down around my face, covering my pale pallid cheeks.

Oh gosh the Reaping. I'm scared, even though I have never taken out tesserae and my name will only be in there once. There's almost no chance at all of me being picked. But I'm still scared.

I leave the house again, awkwardly limping along in my long white dress. It was - it was my mothers dress. She always loved me wearing it, so I will wear it at the Reaping today, to honour her._ I must not cry..._

It takes me just over ten minutes to reach the town centre, where I had been sitting up on the embankment before. Wistfully I look up at it, where now large bulletin boards are standing, posters of the glory and excitement of the Capitol and the Hunger Games. If only I could hide away up there forever, away from the pity and the fear. But I am pulled into the crowd, heading towards the pens. I have watched children do this for years, but this will be the first time I will have been in it. I manage to slip into the twelve year old pen unnoticed and shrink down at the back, desperate not to be noticed.

"Welcome to the 24th Hunger Games, District 3!" shouts an excited woman at the front. She has short blonde hair, like me, but hers is thick and luscious and looks amazing. I find myself imagining and wishing I was pretty like her. I almost miss her announcing the female tribute.

"Now for the female tribute!" She goes over to the large glass bowl and reaches inside, her pretty brow furrowed in concentration. After a few moments she pulls out a piece of paper and holds it aloft.

"The lucky girl to be representing District 3 in the Hunger Games this year is..." she draws it out. "Olivia Daunt!"

My heart stops.

My world instantly smashes into a million pieces.

_I'm going to die._

Tears instantly come out of my eyes, pouring like a waterfall. So much for not getting noticed. Everyone around me knows it's me and there's a sympathetic murmur around the crowd. I try to hold back my tears but choked sobs come out of my mouth and I collapse on the ground, blacking out immediately.

* * *

><p><strong>Name: <strong>Liam Bolt

**Age: **14

**District: **3

My fingers move deftly over the screen in front of me, automatically maximizing and rotating the hologram on the glass so I can check it over. I brush my short dark brown hair away from my forehead before testing the hologram for any glitches, moving it round and looking at it from all angles before setting it aside on the screen. There is never any glitch, not in my designs. I am good at my job.

Looking up at the digital clock at the top of the screen, I sigh. 21: 16pm. Seventeen hours so far today. Just one to go before I can go home. Being a hologram designer for the Hunger Games is difficult and hard work, and every employee works 18 hours a day, no exceptions. I design and build the holograms for their Capitol and Hunger Games arena alike, along with the 2000 other workers in this factory. It gets me good money, making me in a good place. Not rich, not by Career district standards, but not poor either. District 3 is a bit like that. Unfortunately, I can never keep hold of the money. My father takes it all, for drink. So we end up being one of the poorest families in the district.

I catch another workers eye as they stride past carrying a basket full of memory cards that the holograms are stored in and smile shyly. I do have friends, but it takes me a long time to properly trust anyone.

_21: 32pm. _Not long now. Half an hour. I add programming to the hologram I'm working on, a complex map of some city within the Capitol. I don't question the holograms I'm making, it's best not to ask. Some of the arena can be horrific, pictures of past tributes being ripped apart. Just don't think. Don't feel. It's not real.

21:47pm. Quarter of an hour. A lifetime. But also not long enough. I have to get home for my mother, she will be alone with my dad. And it's around this time that Dad has got a few bottles and is taking out his anger on her, poor kind caring Marissa Bolt. I fumble on the keyboard and mess up a line of coding, having to delete it and run it again. That's what family affairs do to my work. Keep them separate. Don't let yourself remember until you're out that door.

21:53pm. Seven minutes. My hands ache and my eyes are bloodshot from staring at the screen all day. I get six hours rest before I return to my work. The factory. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow is the Reapings. An advantage is that we get the morning off to go, then back to work at noon. It's the only time we get off pretty much all year.

21:56pm. Four minutes. What would I be like in the Hunger Games? I'm skinny and pretty much the opposite of athletic. I am a very fast runner though, I can run fast for my size, 5'5. I look sickly because I'm so pale, but that's just a result of being in a factory 18 hours a day. Maybe I wouldn't be bad.

21:59pm. One minute. Time to return to my family, my abusive alcoholic father who beats me and my mother up every day. I might escape his wrath if I'm fast, but my mother never escapes his punishment. I wish I was older, taller, stronger. I wish I could help her.

22:00pm. I gather up my supplies quickly, dropping them in the locker as I hurry past. We don't take any equipment home. What might we do? I'm not sure, but I don't want the punishment. Along with seven other exhausted workers who go the same way as I do, we hurry home, not wanting to be in the way of abusive Peacekeepers the day before the Reapings and making terse conversation. We all know each other and we're all in the same boat. We don't talk about that though, tonight it's about the Hunger Games. I don't speak much, they know that. Eventually we fall silent as we reach our side of the district, the poor part.

"May the odds be ever in your favour!" a girl who I think is called Helena says sarcastically. I smile at her, that being the only action I can do without collapsing in exhaustion and we part ways. I enter my home with a heavy heart and immediately hear my father yelling. This isn't new. My mother is trying to calm him down, like she does every day. Same old, same old. I wait for a few minutes, and if I'm lucky...

My mother turns the corner and smiles weakly at me. She is nursing a swollen jaw. I hug her and she whispers to me. "He fell asleep. Go to bed, now, it's a big day in the morning."

There is no point in arguing. We both know he won't stay asleep forever and she's right, I need all the sleep I can get. "Night Mum," I whisper, and creep upstairs. Sometimes, like tonight, I get lucky. He won't be here in the morning. Out getting drunk again on my earnings. My head hits the pillow and that's the last thing I remember before I fall asleep.

My mother is somewhere in the crowd, watching me. Around me there is screaming and excitement, a constant blanket of chatter. At the front a pretty blonde woman is announcing something, I am too preoccupied to listen, thinking about later when I have to return to work.

"Olivia Daunt!" she announces, and there's a murmur through the crowd. She must be a twelve year old, it's always unfair when they get chosen. Against the seventeen and eighteen year old Careers she'll have no chance.

The crowd parts and I see the girl, on the ground sobbing uncontrollably. Then her eyes roll back in her head and she falls limp on the ground. There is a silence before guards make their way through the twelve year old crowd and pick her up, taking her without a word straight into the Tribute building. No announcement for her then. Just an unpleasant shock when she wakes up and finds herself as a tribute.

"Okay..." the woman says uncertainly. Then she recovers her professionalism and says brightly. "How about the male tribute, eh?"

She picks out a name from the glass bowl, and reads it out.

"Liam Bolt."

Me.

My first thought is selfish and almost happy. I won't get beaten up by my father any more! Then I remember my mum and my heart sinks. I put a calm expression on my face and walk up to the front, showing no one my fear. Hide it. Keep it separate. The woman looks relieved that there's not another breakdown and takes my hand.

"What's your name?" She asks kindly. She already knows that, but I might as well go along with it.

"I'm Liam Bolt, I'm fourteen. And - this is for my mother."

There is a sympathetic murmur and I know I've said the right thing. I catch my mum's eyes right before I'm led away and I know I have to win. For her.


	7. Chapter 4 - District 4 Reapings

**Chapter 4 - District 4 Reapings**

**Name: **Aquata Song

**Age: **16

**District: **4

I stand in the hot shower, feeling powerful jets of steaming water hitting my head and shoulders and sighing in bliss. I love showers, they help me relax and they're a chance to escape from the world around. I often take twenty minute showers just standing in the water feeling its calming presense on my bare skin. I smooth back my shoulder length brown hair, brushing the feathers in it down. I like being unique, and my hairstyle shows that. It wouldn't look good on just anybody, but it does look surprisingly good on me, especially with my bright blue eyes and tall, lean, muscly body. There are so many elaborate and crazy looks in District 4 I'm one of the more normal ones. Which doesn't happen often.

I step out of my shower, grabbing my thick warm towel from the radiator and wrapping it round my body. It's weird that I love showers so much, since I detest large bodies of water, even pools. This is because I almost drowned two years ago, when I was out on my father's fishing boat. I was really close to my father back then, but since my phobia of water came on, my father still spends 24/7 out on his fishing boat and I don't go out with him any more. I barely see him any more. But that's all right. His attitude gets on my nerves anyway - he's completely idiotic and chivalrous - something that I also detest.

As I get dressed into my Reaping outfit, a pair of tight blue trousers and a silvery water-like crop top - traditional common wear for the people of District 4 which is a fishing district - I think about what I plan to do today. By volunteering I'll be making a point, a point that I've wanted to make since I was young and separated by stereotypes. More specifically, the gender stereotypes that girls need protecting and looking after, and that they can't do all the things boys can do. That is rubbish. I hate being a girl sometimes, since boys seem to think I need looking after. I am not going into any 'female' work. No cooking or cleaning for me. And fishing's pretty much out too.

As I make my way downstairs I hear my mother's voice fussing over my little brother. I come into the living room and see her brushing back my brother's thick glossy black hair that he inherited from my father. I wink at Percy as I go past and he mock-grimaces back at me. I know he's just pretending. Percy loves being fussed over really. Since this is his first Reaping Mum is making him look extra smart. This isn't my first Reaping and I'm not a little kid any more. And I'm volunteering today so I don't really need to look beautiful. Sexy and stunning I can go with, but not over made up.

My mum smiles at me. "Hey Aqua. Ready for the Reaping?"

"Yes Mum." I share the same looks as my mum, brown hair and bright blue eyes. Many people see me as a mini version of her, but I could never do what she does, stay at home and teach us everything she thinks we need to know that school can't teach us.

"How are my two beautiful children?" Dad chirps as he comes into the room. I am surprised, normally this early he's out on his fishing boat. He never tries to make an effort with me, not since I cut him off about fishing. But now he's trying to hug me. I duck under his embrace swiftly, not wanting today to be the day I make up with him. Not the day I might be leaving him for good.

"Good morning Father." I say the words crisply and with a cool air of politeness, like I am greeting a stranger. Then I go over and hug my mother tightly, saying: "Hello Mum!" When I flash a glance back at my father he is looking hurt, but I ignore it. I don't need his chivalrous attitude, not today. Of all days.

"Hey Aqua?" His nickname for me since I was young. "I was thinking maybe we could go out fishing or something today. Not deep water, I promise. Just around the bay. There's a really pretty little secluded spot that I know of that -"

I cut him off. "It's the Reaping today, Father."

His green eyes are smiling at me. "I mean after the Reaping. You could even be strapped in, if you want? So you don't fall in? I think we need to -"

"That's hardly going to happen, Father. Since I'm volunteering today."

My mother knows, my little brother knows. But I haven't told my father. He believes, like the rest, that girls shouldn't do things like fighting.

"What?!" He is shocked beyond belief. I can't help smiling at his face. "You can't! You can't fight! You're a girl! You're my girl!"

"Another reason I hate you, Father." I say, spitting out the words. "Not just because you love fishing and I hate it. Not just because you have never tried to do anything with me apart from fishing. Because you share the same view as everyone else that women can't be strong and independent. Well I'm changing that stereotype today. I'm volunteering. And I'm going to win."

And I turn and walk out, shutting the door behind me. Way to make an exit, Aquata.

After a moment or two the door opens behind me and I tense, thinking it might be my father, but my mum comes out instead, with Percy behind her. She doesn't look angry, just sad. But understanding nonetheless.

"He didn't know."

"No," I answer. There's no point denying it.

"Oh Aquata..." Her eyes are sad.

"He just makes me so mad sometimes. And I'm going to volunteer. I have to show them that girls can do things too. I have to show him."

"You do that," Mum replies. "You show them. "

"Thanks Mum." Percy hugs me and I squeeze him back. "Training has been fun, Percy."

"Yeah. You're gonna win, Aqua."

"Thanks, Perc." And I will try. I have to show them I can do it. I will win the Hunger Games.

* * *

><p><strong>Name:<strong> Poseidon Ingar

**Age: **18

**District: **4

"Faster! Strike like a hungry cobra - yes that's it! Leg forward and - slash!"

I follow her instructions to the letter, moving my short sword fast into thin air, bringing my leg forward into an attacking stance and 'killing' what would have been the imaginary tribute with a feeling of excitement. My trainer claps her hands once and I straighten up, lowering my sword to my knee.

"Well done today Poseidon. You're ready." Lili Fedoa tells me with a little bounce that shakes out her thick purple hair out of its ponytail. I have a personal trainer from the Capitol who has trained me for this moment all my life. She is tall and muscly and isn't afraid to tell me exactly what I'm doing wrong in harsh terms sometimes. It's that motivation and challenge that has made me the most brutally efficient fighter in District 4. That and the fact I come from one of the richest families in District 4. Both my parents were Victors in their time.

"You'll be late for the Reaping if you don't hurry," Lili tells me. I bow slightly to her and leave the room, keeping up my charming personality that deceives most people. Lili sees right through facades and has trained me to keep my facade on until I need to kill. Charming and friendly so people like you - then brutal and bloodthirsty in the arena. The perfect combination to win.

I don't have to walk far to get to my mansion. I don't normally go to the main training centre in the middle of District 4, I prefer to go to my private training rooms next to my house where I have lived all my life. It is big and grand, but somehow modern too. My mothe couldn't abide the house looking old fashioned. But she's gone now.

My father was the Victor of the 4th Hunger Games for this district, winning by brutality and strength. I plan to follow in his footsteps twenty years on. I have to make him proud. My mother won the 2nd Hunger Games for District 1, but they met when my father was on a Victory Tour around the districts and they fell in love. My mother was allowed to leave District 1 and come over to District 4 to live with my dad. But my mum died three years ago in the year of the 21st Hunger Games assassinated by a rebel. I miss her, but I will do her proud.

I sweep back my blonde hair and flash my bright blue eyes as I enter the hallway. My family is in the dining room, my father talking to my younger brother who is nodding intently. I guess it's about the Hunger Games, as my brother plans to enter when he's eighteen into the 29th Hunger Games. But I am volunteering today.

"Hey Dad," I say as I enter and sit down on a chair. He nods to me, pride in his eyes.

"Are you ready, son? Lili give you any last pointers?"

"Yes. Lili said I was definitely ready." I grin at my brother and look over at my sister on the other side of the table, staring into space.

"Hey Paula." She doesn't answer, but I'm used to that. My older sister is 22 and doesn't get on with anybody. She decided not to go into the Hunger Games; I'm not sure if she regrets that decision.

"You need anything before the Reaping?" Dad asks.

"I'll go get changed now." I leave the table and go up to my large room, going over to the wardrobe and quickly choosing a pair of blue shorts and a loose aqua-blue top. Blue is kind of a recurring theme in District 4 as you could imagine. I brush my thick blonde hair and look over my appearance in the mirror a last time. Muscular build, charming but dangerous look in my face - the perfect look for a Career. The perfect look for a Victor.

. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I hear the female name being called from the woman at the front. I am standing tall and proud at the front of the male 18 years old section, waiting for my moment to come. The moment I've waited for all my life.

"Ge -" She begins, but she never gets to finish.

"I volunteer!" Obviously. A girl steps out from the crowd, she has a pretty face and short brown hair cut in feathers that frame her bright blue eyes. She wastes no time as she goes up to the front and announces to the crowd: "My name is Aquata Song and I'm 16. I'm doing this to show everyone that females aren't weak and useless. And my dad." Her voice goes softer. "He's the biggest hypocrite of all."

"Thank you very much!" Our announcer says at the front. "Now for the male tribute!" As she goes to pick out a name and begins to read it out only a single syllable gets off her lips before I am stepping forward.

"De -"

"I volunteer!" A cheer goes up from the crowd and I know I am a popular one. So I go to the front and say loudly and confidently. "Hey. I'm Poseidon Ingar. Son of the Victors from the 2nd and the 4th Hunger Games. I plan to follow in their footsteps. And I'm here to win!"

"Tributes - shake hands!"

I do so, putting on my charming act and bowing to the girl next to me which gets a cheer from the crowd. Oh boy. They don't know what's hit them yet...


	8. Chapter 5 - District 5 Reapings

**Chapter 5 - District 5 Reapings**

**Name: **Elise Misa

**Age: **17

**District: **5

I move my sword into the dummy, striking hard and fast. Beside me the tall handsome boy does the same with his spear, striking the heart directly. "That's it!" I hear my father shouting to me. "Now pull it out and - that's it - throw!" I follow his instructions and hurl my sword into the dummy on the opposite wall. The spear hits faster, lodging in the head as mine hits the chest.

"Bingo," Kory says with a laugh. I roll my eyes, nudging him with my elbow.

"Yours is meant to travel very quickly through the air. My sword is for hand on hand combat," I tell him. He laughs.

"Didn't stop mine from beating you, though, did it?"

"Well done, you two," my father tells us. "You've done well today. Kory you're really getting a clean hit with your spear. Elise, you were brilliant in hand to hand combat. A prodigy."

"I'm really not," I answer. Landon Misa, my father, believes and always believed that I'm a prodigy with my sword. And tells me so every single time we practise. And doesn't take no for an answer.

As I pack up, collecting my sword from the dummy, Kory comes up to me, smiling. "Hey Elise. Good training today." Outside training Kory is totally different to the cocky strong focused boy he acts like when we're training. He is cool, calm and caring towards me. If there was one person I couldn't live without it would be my twin brother.

"Thanks Kory. You too."

"Ready for the Reapings today?"

I sigh. "I don't think I'll ever be ready. There'll be all those Peacekeepers around. And ever since last year..." I am unable to finish.

"Nina. I know." We share a companianable silence as we pack away our weapons. Our cousin Nina was reaped into the Hunger Games last year - and never made it out. We were forced to watch her die on live tv - in school. It was the most horrible moment of my life. I was really close to Nina, even though she was eighteen when I was sixteen, we still got on really well. She would be nineteen now. Too old for the Reaping. I wish I was in the same position.

"As long as the Peacekeepers don't mess with you..." Kory says with a hint of threat in his voice. I put a hand on his shoulder. He shares the same look as me, short blonde hair, piercing green eyes and tanned skin. We both stand at around five foot, though Kory often jokes that he's taller. He's not, though. He's not!

"Don't get in trouble with them again. They won't mess with me. I promise." Kory is very protective of me, and a few months ago he got whipped for standing up for me against them. I had to watch, and see the pain in his eyes when I later washed his wounds. People say District 5 is all right, not too bad. But the Peacekeepers here are strong and like to throw their weight around. And they hate Kory.

"Do we have to work tonight?" Kory asks me, knowing that I don't want to talk about it.

"Yeah..." I sigh. We work with our parents now, ever since we're old enough. "But the Reaping takes off some of the time today."

"Yeah. Suppose you're right."

"I'm just scared." I don't admit that very often, only to my twin brother can I tell him things like that.

He pulls me close, his arm wrapped securely around my shoulders. "We all are, El. But don't worry."

"C'mon!" I hear my mother's voice shouting us, and know it's time for the Reaping. Sera Misa is tall and pretty, but very down to earth. I love my mum.

We travel to the town square in silence, my parents talking in low tones just in front of us. Kory knows I don't want to talk, but his arm is draped on my shoulders still. I'm glad. It's a source of comfort, especially when I see the first Peacekeeper. Automatically I stiffen, but Kory pulls me along, his calm face not giving anything away. It's only the slight tensing of his arm around my shoulders that tells me his fear.

The square is large and busy already, filled with chatter and children in the sectioned compartments for gender and age. I can already see our announcer, a tall excitable woman bouncing around on stage, her tightly curled orange hair coiled on top of her head. Like snakes.

"What is it?" Kory hisses, noticing my discomfort. I shake my head quickly. Kory already knows that I'm insecure, especially at the Reapings. 'Snake' hair really shouldn't bother me.

_Cmon Elise. Pull yourself together._

"Get into your sections please!" shouts a Peacekeeper near me. He's not specifically speaking to us, but even then I feel we should hurry.

"Bye Kory. See you after the Reapings." He is kind enough to not mention the possibility that we won't.

"Good luck, sis." He gives my shoulder a last squeeze then he moves away and is instantly lost in the crowd. I make my way to the seventeen year old female section and squeeze myself in between the ropes that pen us in.

"Welcome! Welcome! How exciting this is!" enthuses the woman with the orange snake hair. I can just see Kory opposite me in his pen, rolling his eyes at the woman and winking at me.

"Well then. The female tribute. Ooh! Didn't last year's tribute do well?"

_Don't mention Nina. Don't you dare mention Nina_, I think, instantly feeling sad all over again. I don't need this.

Mercifully, she seems to forget about her rhetorical question and moves on. This woman's mind moves faster than a freight train. "So then. Let's pick - the female tribute!" Her voice rises to a high crescendo as she darts over and reaches deep, picking a piece of paper and holding it high for a few seconds.

"Elise - Misa! Ooh, congratulations..." Her voice goes quiet in my mind. All I can focus on is that it's me. Me. Me. Oh Kory...

My body is frozen to the spot. I am screaming my brothers name in my mind, but my mouth in real life hangs open limply. Because all I can see is Kory's face, opposite me, in the crowd, horrified. He would volunteer for me, he really would, but male tributes can't volunteer for female tributes.

I'm a tribute.

I'm going to die. Just like Nina.

"Elise Misa! Please come up to the front." I know I have to be brave, for Kory. I step out of the crowd and the woman notices me, talking immediately, putting her hand out for mine. I stop for a moment, finding Kory's face in the crowd and speaking, out loud this time.

"Kory. Don't you dare volunteer. I'm not killing you." He can hear. I know he can. Then Peacekeepers come up behind me, grabbing my shoulders, and I am jolted into reality, quickly racing away from pure instinct. I am standing on the stage. Why am I standing on the stage? Why aren't I in the crowd, feeling sorry for the poor girl who's up here but also relieved, so so relieved it's not me?

Because it's me.

* * *

><p><strong>Name: <strong>Tristan Port

**Age: **12

**District: **5

"Bye Potty! Enjoy being alone!" yells the large boy in my face, throwing my glasses over his shoulder into the dirt. His friends snigger as I scramble blindly to find them, knowing my father can't afford another pair, not again. He kicks me hard in the side as I'm on all fours, then I can hear their footsteps heading away into the distance. I gasp for breaths that won't come, my blue eyes wet with tears. As they are every day after school.

I'm lucky, today. My hands find the large wooden frames, in the dirt, and I thankfully slide them on, watching as the world comes into focus. My pale skinny arms, in front of my bowed head. I brush back my cropped blonde hair, or what's left of it. It's matted with dirt and mud now, from where I've been pushed in the puddles of accumulated mud.

Should I do it? Killing myself would be so easy, so relieving. I could just leave. But no, I've had this conversation with myself a million times and it always comes to nought. I have a bright future at the power plant, my dad says. Sure. Like he does. Spending all night and half the day out at the power plant, never home to take care of me. I suppose it's better than him knowing. Knowing I get bullied about my height and my pale skin and my glasses. And the fact I'm the smartest kid in my class doesn't help either. All of which I inherited from him. He can't know. He can never know.

The Reaping is today. I sometimes wonder whether I'd be so bad at the Hunger Games. I can hide. I'm amazing at finding new and inventive hiding places to hide. But they always find me. It can take them hours, but the bullies always find me in the end. And I'm quite agile, despite my skinny body. I even have a battle strategy. But I can't lift a weapon. I'm too weak. And I'm not a fast runner. Tributes don't win by hiding. Even I know that you have to kill to win. And I'vee never killed in my life.

I briefly consider going home to at least wash some of the dirt off my face and hair, but abandon that idea. Ever since my mum died - it's not the same. I can't bear to go into my house and know that she won't be there to be pleased to see me, to care about what I did at school. She died from a terminal illness, I'm not sure what. I was only seven when she died, so no one bothered to tell me. To explain. It was days later that someone finally told me she was gone - not coming back. Not ever. So I don't go home very often. I don't want to go home and find it empty all over again.

I feel the familiar tears coming to my eyes and wipe them away angrily. I have to get to the square. I haven't got a watch but I know the punishment for being late for the Reaping is not desirable. Luckily I'm not far away from the town square.

As I enter I keep my eyes lowered to the ground so as not to be noticed. If the bullies are here I can't see them. I hear a loud female voice carrying over the crowd and realise the Reaping has already begun. Great. I quickly duck under a rope to join the twelve year old males milling around in the enclosed space. I recognise many of them from school. But I don't know anybody. I have no friends.

"Let's pick out the female tribute!" enthuses a woman with bright orange hair twisted into elaborate looking buns. I sigh. I'm not drastically late, then.

"Elise Misa!" she says. I don't recognise the name, and no one steps out at first. "Ooh congratulations! Isn't this an amazing privilege! You get to see the Capitol! Ooh you'll love it!"

Sure, I think. See the beautiful Capitol with all those people looking forward to seeing you die.

"Elise Misa?" she repeats, and finally I see a girl stepping up to the stage, stopping in the middle and staring off onto the distance. She says something but I can't hear what it is. Finally I see Peacekeepers coming up behind her and she darts forward, onto the stage, her eyes scared. They look faraway as she faces the audience, her whole body tensed up. She's sixteen or seventeen, with blond hair and green eyes. Fairly normal for a District 5 girl.

"Oh hello. So, tell us about yourself!" The woman prompts, smiling.

The girl takes a deep breath and speaks. "I'm Elise Misa. I'm seventeen and many of you will know my twin, Kory Misa. I'm doing this for him. I'm also doing this for my cousin, who was Reaped and died last year in the Hunger Games."

Heartwarming words. She's obviously prepared to tell her story in the Capitol, to get people on her side. It's a good technique. Works well, too, if it sounds true enough. She certainly sells it well.

"Fabulous! You're going to go far!" says the woman happily. I don't think she was really paying attention to her words. "Okay. The male tribute. Let's see..."

She picks out a name. I tense suddenly.

"Tristan Port."

Me.

How can it be me? I'm twelve! I don't have to take out tesserae! There's literally one chance in about thousands that it would have been me!

And oh God. I'm weak. I'm gonna die. Oh Mum.

I step out, hardly knowing what I'm doing, hardly knowing what I'm going to do or say. I know I need an angle, but what will it be? What will sell me to people?

What will help me survive?

"Hi." I find myself on the stage, speaking softly but calmly to the audience. "I'm Tristan. My mum died, a few years ago. And erm - this is for her."

To my surprise, it seems to work. People look sorry for me. But I still need to be strong. Because, now, I'm a tribute. I'm gonna either hide and win, or never have to be bullied again.


	9. Chapter 6 - District 6 Reapings

**Chapter 6 - District 6 Reapings**

**Name: **Aria Lumen

**Age: **14

**District:** 6

"One, two, three," I grunt as I twist the wrench around the bolt underneath the car for the final time today. It tightens and I stand up, barking my status to the next stage. "Bolts intact!"

The skeleton of the car moves along and I breathe a sigh of relief as my job for the day finishes, brushing back my long black wavy hair held high in a ponytail; some of the strands are coming out of the tie and framing my pale face.

"Aria, is all good to go?" a boy shouts. He's sixteen or so, and I know him from work.

"All is finished, Brendan!" I shout back. I can just see his nod from where I sit and watch as he presses a button, broadcasting his voice through the entire factory.

"Today's Capitol car limit has been reached. You are free to go. See you a bit later tomorrow, everyone. May the odds be ever in your favour for the Reaping." I remember it's the Reapings tomorrow and gulp, but swallow down my fears. I'm Aria Lumen, and I don't feel fear.

I work in the transportation factory, and my knowledge of car design from when I started a year ago has helped me up the ranks, into one of the top spots. Even at my young age I know what I want to do with my life, and I'm doing it right now. Just something about transport design just grabs me, and I love my job.

I feel my keys in my top pocket as I grab my toolbox and stow it away in a locker, before heading out of the factory, making my way to my apartment. I live alone, ever since I moved out to rent an apartment with my newfound earnings. That was the main reason I started working so young, instead of school. So I could earn money to keep my apartment. And so I could be away from my violent alcoholic father. I haven't seen him in over a year, since I left my family home at age thirteen.

The Reaping tomorrow. For the first time I allow myself to think about Keira. She was my closest friend when I was young; we were very close. She seemed to understand me perfectly, although we were quite different people. But two years ago, in the twenty second Hunger Games, Keira was Reaped. She died very early on, and I was forced to watch her death on live TV. The Career who killed her went on to win. Ever since then I have kept myself closed off, and I haven't made any friends. It's not that I can't be friendly, it's just that I don't feel like being sociable with people. By ignoring them I am making sure that they can't hurt me, but if I get Reaped, will anyone miss me? My mum would, but she died when I was young. Anyone else? No, not really.

I find myself at the door of the block of dilapidated flats where my room is. I speak to no one as I pass them, and make my way to the lift. I'm on the ninth floor, so I only really use the stairs if the lift's broken. Which is three quarters of the time. But today it's working, which is a blessing in itself. It's been a long day, and it'll be an early Reaping tomorrow. When I reach my floor I get out and head to Room 927, which is where I have stayed for over a year. It's not so bad. I unlock it with my key and shut the door behind me, feeling relieved as I do so. My apartment is the only place I can truly be alone. Alone, and myself.

It's not such a bad place to live. The sofa is also a creaky metal sofa bed with the padding as the mattress. I have a small fridge and an oven in the corner, and the bathroom is a tiny little boxlike room in the corner walled off from the rest of the room. But it's mine. I feel independent here, like I need no one. No one to look after me, no one to hurt me.

It's getting late, and all I truly want to do is flop down on the sofa and sleep. But I force myself to go to the bathroom and untie the band from my hair, shaking it loose. I brush it out quickly and splash some water on my face, before quickly washing the grime and oil off my hands from working in mechanics all day. Then I turn the bathroom light off and turn my sofa into the sofa bed. I pull a blanket over my head and wait for sleep to claim me.

It's early morning. I'm awake early, too early. There are small dapples of light coming from around the blinds, and I assume it's around five in the morning. Great. After the Reaping it'll be another long day at work. There's always more orders for transport during the Hunger Games period. Don't ask me why.

After closing my eyes and lying still for a few minutes, trying to get back to my dreamless slumber, I know I have no chance of actually getting back to sleep now. I'm too tense, too alert. I have time now to get ready for the Reaping. I get up, feeling the burning cold on my skin and wishing I had enough money to buy extra heating for my flat. It is freezing!

I look directly in the mirror of my bathroom, noting how my grey eyes are striking against my pale skin, as always. My black wavy hair hangs just above the waist. It's my one good feature that I'm proud of. I quickly braid my hair into two long braids that hang either side of my shoulders, and splash some cold water over my face. I don't tend to take too much care over my appearance, but the Reaping means I can look decent. I choose a dress from the wardrobe that doesn't look too crumpled - it's been a while since I've been able to get to the laundry rooms the other side of the District - patterned with white snowdrops. I barely ever wear it, there's not much scope for aesthetics in District 6, but I do like it. It reminds me of Keira, she used to love the spring snowdrops.

"This is for you, Keira," I whisper, before going back into my small apartment to get ready for the day. I fold my sofa bed back and start heating some milk on the oven. It's going to be a long day...

* * *

><p><strong>Name: <strong>Jacen Vernal

**Age: **15

**District:** 6

I march at the head of the school's lead gang, making eye contact with no one and grinning cruelly as I notice our target. The small boy is next to his locker, trying to close it but fumbling. I nod to the large boy next to me and he heads forward, tapping the boy on the shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growls. My second in command is large, very large, and towers over everyone. Especially me. But Mattias is brawn, not brain. He knows I'm boss.

The young boy's eyes widen in fear and he stumbles back a step, dropping his locker key on the floor as he does so. I stare him in the eyes, facing him. I am around the same height as him, me being around 4"10". Small, I know. But I make up for my height easily.

"Dinner money. My gang's getting hungry, and when they get hungry they get violent," I say calmly but my voice is like ice. The boy fumbles in his pocket and brings out a few coins, stammering as he does so: "Here you go, sir."

"Good." I pick up the boy's locker key, throwing it swiftly down the corridor. He scramble to get it and I look at the money in my hand. "Bingo. Mattias, go get us lunch. School ends early today."

"Does it?" asks another boy, his voice confused. He's not the brightest, but he has a deadly aim with any stone you care to put in his hand. Smashing the hallway lights was easy with him on our team.

"It does for us." I grin. Being the head of the school's most lethal gang has its perks. Especially since no one would suspect poor little Jacen Vernal of a thing.

I comb back my wispy grey-blonde hair that sits in small tufts on my forehead and smile innocently at a teacher that walks by. She smiles kindly at me. My rosey cheeks and large smile help to make me look like I couldn't hurt a fly. Every teacher loves me. Most adults, in fact. But I am actually the lead bully of this school.

Me and my parents used to live in the much richer part of District Six, where my father was a successful factory manager who earned lots and kept our family in a good position in District Six. I was in a good school, I did my homework every night, I worked hard in class, eager to learn and do well. I had lots of friends and was happy and carefree. I was then known as that one boy who was too kind for his own good. I was completely oblivious to the dangers of the world back then.

That all changed when my father lost his job. It was when I was 8, forcing our family to move to "The Slump" part of the District. As a result I had to move to a newer, tougher school, where "nice" wasn't taken very seriously. After a couple horrific years of being beaten up and manipulated by other kids, I finally learned how to fight back. And I discovered that I was good at it too.

At first, I only used this new skill for self defense. Like if a kid challenged me to a fight, or tried to beat me up. That happened a lot in this new school. There were a lot of gangs and no tolerance for work. No teachers could protect me, in fact they were oblivious to any bullying at all. They seem to all be living in a silvery bubble where everyone is happy and gets along. I got by, by showing people I wasn't a pushover any more. My pocket money was actually mine still, I could walk the corridors without being terrified of getting locked in the broom cupboards or getting my head shoved down the toilets. And I was careful too. I didn't pick fights. Just defended myself from them.

But then one night, as I was walking home from school I heard a man screaming in terror. Obviously, being the poor sap I was back then, I rushed to the nearest alley, where the noise was coming from. I was just in time to see a man being brutally murdered by a Peacekeeper. I quickly scrambled behind a dumpster, and watched silently. It was then, as I saw that man get murdered, that my eyes were finally opened to the cruelty and brutality of this world I was pushed into. I knew then that I was no longer Jacen Vernal, nerdy childish little boy that believed the world was perfect. The next day at school, I arrived a new person.

Now I challenge kids to fights, and I manipulate everyone weaker than me into doing what I want. But my key skill is my weak childish look. Rather than change it to make me look tougher - pale skin, wispy blonde hair, silvery grey eyes that seem full of light, shorts and t-shirts - I can still make adults believe I'm perfect. I still keep up the "innocent" act for my teachers and parents. As far as they're concerned, I'm a happy carefree teenager who keeps well out of fights. By the time I turned thirteen, I had become the official leader of one of the schools' lead gangs, and spend most of my time threatening, beating up, and stealing from people. It's made me the most feared boy in the District.

And what no-one knows, not even my gang, is when I saw that man get murdered in front of my eyes, I developed a new obsession for blood. I can't explain it. But when I see it, my heart seems to jump and it gives me such a thrill.

"Boss?" I jerk out of my memories quickly, smiling with my silver eyes bright at Mattias who is handing me a sandwich. We don't pay for things. Or rather, we do, but with the little kids' money. It works for us.

"No raiding tonight, guys," I tell them. "Folks expect me to be at home, preparing for the Reaping."

They look disappointed, but no one contradicts me. They wouldn't dare.

"See you at the Reapings, then," I say. "I'm dropping school for the afternoon."

And I walk away, not looking back. I've never looked back. Not once in my life.

I stand in the crowd, watching a pale girl step to the front in the Reaping, her body stiff and erect. Someone called Aria Lumen. Looks around fourteen, with a look of calm on her face. But I am adept at seeing fear on people. And this girl looks pretty confident, but I can see a mix of emotions on her face. Anger, definitely. Shock - who isn't when they're Reaped? And fear. She's scared.

The man at the front smiles as Aria steps up next to him

"Oh well done, congratulations! So tell us about yourself."

The girl's voice is steady. "I'm Aria Lumen. I've worked in the transport business since I was thirteen, and my best friend was Reaped two years ago. I hope to do her proud, and win for both of us."

"Oh isn't that lovely?" exclaims the man. He's far too happy for his own good. As the smattering of applause from the crowd dies down he steps over to the male tribute bowl. "Time for the male tribute!" He picks out a name and read a it slowly off the card.

"Jacen Vernal!"

Me.

On reflex I make my eyes go extremely wide and my lips open in shock. Best to look as innocent and scared as possible. I am already thinking of my strategy, in the Games, and the first reactions are everything. Make people love me. Make people feel sorry for me. Then kill them all. I can't look like a threat.

Inside I am extremely annoyed. Me, Reaped? I'm the head of the bully gang! I'm respected! Feared! I have a position in this District!

And maybe winning the Games will help that.


	10. Chapter 7 - District 7 Reapings

**Chapter 7 - District 7 Reapings**

**Name: **Scarlett Johannes

**Age: **17

**District:** 7

I pull the hood further over my head as I walk towards the large crowds in the town square, the noise radiating off the large amounts of people deafening. The Reapings are a large event, there are many people who are both excited and terrified to get Reaped. Mostly terrified, we're in District 7. We're not a Career district.

I feel my long, raven-black hair hanging down, coming out underneath of my red hood. My dark brown - nearly black - eyes are framed by a pale face and a large smile. I'm always smiling, I think it helps with morale. If I'm an optimist, I can help brighten other people's days as well. Always looking on the bright side of things, no matter how bad or horrible, can help you stay sane in this district. I'm fairly chatty most of the time too, and I have a few friends. Some may call me naive for my endless optimism, or annoying due to the fact I'm way too loyal and I talk all the time.

I quite like my life in District 7. I, like many other people my age, go to school some, like in the afternoons for a few hours. But we work most of the day, in the forests cutting trees and working alongside my friends. I find time to relax outdoors and hang with my friends when I can. When my family doesn't need the money so badly.

I can see my family in the crowds, none of them except me in the Reaping. My older sister is standing next to my mother in the crowd meeting my eyes and smiling. Amber is twenty-one, and passed all her Reapings with ease and a practised grace. She's the one who taught me optimism, to always believe there's something better in life, even when it gets tough. Because we know what she's going to have to do when she reaches the age. Do exactly what my mother is doing in a desperate attempt to earn us money. Since our father died, even when I went into work, we still had Luke to feed. My mother has been forced to be a prostitute. And my sister will soon follow her. My mother is pretty, though I don't look like her much. She has short brown hair and chestnut eyes that my sister definitely inherited. Luke and I looked more like our father.

Instead of let myself focus on the sorrows and horror that I always feel like this, I make myself focus on the good. The happiness, the pure things in life. For me this is my baby brother Luke. He's just two and is absolutely adorable. His black eyes like mine and short curly black hair standing up in curled tufts on his head serve to make him cute - and irresistible. I wave to him from where I now stand in the seventeen year old section and he waves back happily. If there's one more optimistic person in my family than me it's Luke. But I guess he's a baby so it doesn't count. I dread the day when he has to go into the Reaping. And I'll be too old to volunteer for him.

There's only one person missing here. I shift from foot to foot in the crowd, almost expecting to see my father's handsome face with his dark black eyes in the crowd. But as usual, since a few years ago, he is nowhere to be seen. It's hard to stay optimistic when you know what happened to him. When I miss him so much. He worked in the lumber business like everyone else, and he taught young people, trainees, the trade and methods. Except one day, he got in an incident with a trainee and an axe. I was in school at the time. It's partly because of him that I wear the red hood all the time, leading to my pale skin.

I've worn this hood since I was very young, and my father used to call me his little red hood. In memory of him I tend to wear it, though there's other reasons too. It makes me feel complete, and it helps me hide from the world sometimes when it's too hard to smile.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome! To the twenty fourth Hunger Games!" The man on stage has green sticking up hair and is bouncing around like an excited rabbit. "Oh, this year is going to be fabulous! I bet we'll get some amazing tributes and a nail biting competition."

There is some awkward shuffling from the crowd and some nervous laughter. But we can't get excited about that sort of stuff. We're not a Career district. The man is acting like it's just some fun, when we know it's brutal, difficult and terrifying.

"Okay!" The man isn't deterred by the stony silence. "Let's choose a fabulous female tribute!"

He struts over to the bowl and reaches his hand deep inside, posing in an expression of mock indecision as he reaches around. At last he brings out a slip of paper and reads it out loudly.

"Scarlett Johannes!"

I can't believe it. One more year and I would have been okay. One more year and I wouldn't have to suffer the pain and terror of the Reaping. I'm always happy, always optimistic, but I can find no way to smile now. I feel numb as I walk up to the front, unable to look at my family. I can only think of my father's face, smiling and ruffling my hood. Every tribute needs an angle, and I know what mine will be already. What it's been all my life. Happy and chatty. But can I convince people now?

"Hi," I say quietly. "I'm Scarlett Johannes, and I'm seventeen. I'm kind of scared about this, but I'm looking forward to seeing the Capitol." I make my voice sound excited at the end, and the Capitol man next to me believes my speech completely. But I know the district haven't taken my light heartedness for real. They can tell its just an act, and that somehow gives me hope.

"Oh, you will love the Capitol my darling!" he gushes. I smile awkwardly at him, and automatically pull my hood further over my head, covering my forehead and hiding my eyes a little more. Now is when I need my father's strength and my sister's sunny optimism most. Because no matter how they sugercoat it, I'm going into the Hunger Games. I'm going to have to fight. I'm going to have to kill. And I'm going to have to accept that naivety and optimism isn't going to help me now. I need to be strong.

* * *

><p><strong>Name: <strong>Flynn Woods

**Age: **16

**District:** 7

I brush back my chestnut-brown hair, smiling into the mirror with my wide smile. I think I'm ready for the Reaping. My hazel eyes are warm as I imagine myself out in the forest with the horses, the only place I wish to be right now. I love horses, they're warm and gentle and they don't lie to you. I feel safe when I'm on the back of a horse, especially my favourite who is technically mine, Cassie.

"You done in there?" I hear my brother shout, and my smile is replaced quickly with a frown as I know I have to face him.

I have a large family who I live with on my family farm. I've always worked there, following the family - and indeed the district - business of lumber. I get to look after the horses and have a very close bond with them. If there's one skill I do have its that I'm an excellent rider. Our family is pretty much middle class. I love living on the farm, I get to stay near the horses all day and I don't have to live in the main districts with its noisy streets and factories making wooden furniture. I know it could be worse, we could live in a district with no wood at all and only smelly factories, but all the same I dislike the town. I live with my mother, father, younger sister and older brother. I get on well with my family mostly, however I'm sometimes a little jealous of my older brother, Brandon. Not that I'd ever admit it to him of course. He's eighteen and loves the main district, mainly because of all the adoring girls who fan around his feet. And of course, he's very popular and handsome. Sometimes, when he brings home his perfect grades or comes in casually with a cute girl I feel like I'm in his shadow a little.

I wouldn't say I'm bad looking or anything, due to my tall stature and strong build from working in the forests and muscly legs and arms from riding every day, buy my brother acts like he's the most amazing person in the world and it just annoys me.

"Hey! Flynn! Stop admiring yourself in the mirror and let me in. You're not the only one who's got the Reaping today, you know," yells Brandon. I open the door and see his blond spiked hair and hazel eyes smirking at me. He definitely takes after my mum. My younger sister and I both look like our father with our red tinted chestnut hair and hazel eyes.

"Hey. You know, there's still an hour before the Reaping, and it takes you an hour to just do your hair," I comment. "Better cut down your beauty routine today if you don't want to miss the Reaping."

Brandon scowls and pushes past me. I'm normally the most friendly, kind and gentle person in my family, but there's just something about my older brother that seems to rile me up every time. Plus making fun of his elaborate beauty routine is fun to watch.

I make my way down the carved wooden stairs and hop into the kitchen in two strides. My mum and my younger sister are in there; Carmen is eleven and shares my features, as well as my love for horses. She smiles at me as I come in. I'm so glad she's not in the Reaping yet, I couldn't bear it if she had to go through that this year. She's still the little cute toddler who used to climb on my back and play horses to me.

"Is there time to go see the horses before the Reaping?" Carmen asks Mum.

"I guess so, but only quickly. We have to go soon," she amends. Carmen smiles brightly and grabs my hand.

"Try telling that to Carmen!" I joke to my mother. Carmen would happily - and sometimes does - spend all day with the horses. Her horse is called Collette and has a dark brown body colour with a lighter mane. Cassie has a lighter brown body with a blond coloured mane. We both have a strong connection with all the horses.

Carmen drags me outside and I take over her speed so she's struggling to keep up with me. Soon we reach the stables where both our horses are kept. I place my hand on Cassie's brown head, stroking her hair gently in the right direction.

"I wish we could go riding..." Carmen says wistfully.

"Yeah. But it's the Reaping in -" I check my wrist watch. "Three quarters of an hour."

"I hope you're not Reaped," Carmen says with sudden fear in her tone. I hug her quickly. I'm a friendly person and hugging my sister comes naturally to me.

"I won't be. Look, I've lasted this long. Never been Reaped yet, have I?"

"Take this!" Carmen quickly rummages in her pocket in her checked dress and brings out a tiny horseshoe brooch. I recognise it instantly, it's the one Brandon got her for her tenth birthday.

"You really want to?" I ask quietly, feeling touched.

Carmen nods fervently. "It brings luck. Horseshoes are lucky, aren't they?"

"Yes. Thank you," I tell her fervently, fastening the brooch to my shirt. It glints there, a flash of silver against the neutral colours of my outfit.

"Are you coming to the Reaping or not?" I hear Brandon yell from inside the house, and silently I roll my eyes. Carmen sees and holds back a giggle.

"We're coming!" I yell, feigning cheerfulness, and nod to Carmen to follow me. It's time for the Reaping.

\

I wink at Carmen from where I stand in the crowd of sixteen year old males, able to see her face very clearly in the crowd. On my right I can see Brandon flicking his hair in the eighteen year old male section and hold back a groan.

"Let's choose a fabulous female tribute!" the man at the front says excitedly.

The name is unfamiliar to me when he reads it out, but I feel sorry anyway for the poor female. "Scarlett Johannes!"

The girl walks slowly up to the front, her face obscured partially by a long red hood. I can see her eyes though, scared and shocked. She faces the crowd and speaks softly. Her voice is pretty and sounds scared. "Hi, I'm Scarlett Johannes, and I'm seventeen. I'm kind of scared about this, but I'm looking forward to seeing the Capitol."

Heartwarming and honest. The Capitol will love her.

"Oh, you will love the Capitol my darling!" sings the man happily. The girl looks embarrassed and pulls her hood further over her head. I wonder briefly why she's wearing it. It covers her face and hair.

"Next up, the male!" the man says, hopping over to the male bowl and sticking his hand in. He is very enthusiastic, maybe too much so.

"Flynn Woods!"

My reaction is at first disbelieving. I stand simply, unable to look up, unable to think. I'm Reaped. The only thing I could think was, oddly: "i know Carmen will look after the horses." Then the true nature of what has happened hits me and I look up. The person who I look at is Brandon; pleadingly for him to volunteer. My brother is older and stronger and has a better chance of winning. He is even quite good with a sword when he's showing off. But my brother delibrately doesn't catch my eye. His eyes are focused on the ground. And he just stands there.

I'm alone.


	11. Chapter 8 - District 8 Reapings

**Chapter 8 - District 8 Reapings**

**Name: **Andromeda Robins

**Age: **15

**District: **8

"Hey Andi?" Luke asks, smiling warmly at me and brushing my shoulder lightly with his muscly arm. I am standing in a group of girls in the town square, waiting for them to set up the pens fully for the impending Reaping. Luke is being talked to by a lot of girls but he stands close to me throughout, smiling and laughing lightly with that easy way of his.

"Yes?" I answer, trying to stay cool as I grin my well known half smile up at him.

"You ready for this?" is his unexpected question.

"What sort of question is that?" I ask quizzically.

"I mean really." Luke has a serious look in his deep brown eyes as he looks into my lighter brown ones. I know what he means. No one is exactly ready for the Reaping but we have to be at least mentally prepared.

"M'fine. It's Clarisse you should be worrying about. She's the one who's hyperactive and terrified," I joke, gesturing at my closest friend standing near to us. She's chattering loudly to anyone who'll listen how she's certain she's get picked this year, it's practically inevitable, and people should start raising up money to get her sponsor gifts.

Luke fixes me with the intense look that always makes me shiver, and says softly: "You know it's you who I'm worrying about. Constantly."

I have had a crush on the same guy for two years: Luke. He's popular, cute and confident, and I found out from a friend recently that he's had a crush on me too all this time. We're still not together officially yet, but it's casual flirting like this that gets me tense and also somehow so relaxed and happy in his company. There's an oxymoron for you.

I smile back, twirling a strand of black hair with dark purple streaks at the tips around my slim finger. Since District 8 isn't a particularly poor district due to the good trade of textiles that goes on here - not a particularly rich district either, but not poor - I was able to get some streaks dyed into my dark hair. Purple is my favourite colour so it seemed the logical choice.

"Hey, An? You going to just stand around yacking with your boyfriend all morning or are you going to come on? The pens are set up!" shouts another of my friends, Freya. I flash her a look, hoping Luke didn't hear that. But when I look back at him, he just has a faintly amused smile on his face, like there's a secret joke that no one else is finding funny. Breathing a sigh of relief, I bob up next to Luke and give him an awkward little wave. He responds by bending down and gently kissing my cheek. I flush red immediately, made even more noticeable by my pale skin and slender form.

"See you after the Reaping," he says quietly.

I look at the boy I have had a crush on for two years and smile widely. "You can count on it." I am, as many of my friends will tell you, quite loud, funny and bubbly around people I know and am familiar with, but quiet and shy around strangers. Luckily District 8 isn't massive and I know quite a few people, so I can relate to most of them fairly easily. People will say I'm a fairly nice well known girl around the district. My brother helps that status by being one of the only inventors - good ones at least - in District 8. I often joke that Adam would be better off in District 3, calling him a District 3 citizen often, since he's good with electronics and loves inventing and creating new things. He works hard to keep us fed, ever since -

Ever since my family died.

When I was twelve, my parents and my younger sister Ava were killed in a house fire. Both Adam and I were at school, Adam being only sixteen at the time. Now he's nineteen and we own a small house on the outskirts of the district, which Adam earns just enough for to pay the rent and buy us food. I love my older brother, especially since we look very similar with our black hair (though he didn't take the liberty of dying purple streaks into his) pale slender forms and brown eyes.

I seem to have got inventing skills like my brother, as well, which gives me a natural curiosity into designing structures and objects. It also helps to make us even closer as siblings. I'm quite smart as well, which makes me good at school. By no means perfect at academic subjects, but I don't do too badly. Once I'm old enough to work as well we can start getting in the nice little income together.

I kind of feel nervous now as I stand with my similarly aged friends in the fifteen year olds section, despite my staged assurance in front of Luke before. I don't dislike my life in my district like a lot of people in the poorer districts do. I tend to clean a lot around the house as I'm slightly OCD and like to have our small house fairly neat. I'm not totally inexperienced at weaponry as I sometimes throw darts or knives around when I'm bored. Sometimes I even find a bat to swing round our tiny little courtyard which suffices for a garden. And I can use a knife if I have to. So I guess I wouldn't be awful at the Hunger Games. But I can't stand blood and I'm quite slow. Hmm, I wouldn't volunteer willingly.

Clarisse has stopped babbling now and I grin easily at her, hiding my building nervousness. She is making no obvious attempt to hide how nervous she is. I can see Luke on the other side of the courtyard, smiling and looking directly untow my eyes. And in the crowds behind me I know is my older brother. Just knowing people are there to give me support if I need it is enough to make me stand up a little taller and put on a calm smile, the way some of the seventeen and eighteen year olds are doing. It's obvious they've done it all before.

Our escort walks onto the stage. We have had the same escort for as long as I can remember, the calm, serene Tricia Dergess. And for a woman from the Capitol, she even looks vaguely normal, with her coiled blonde side buns either side of her head.

"Hello, District 8! I hope you're all ready for this year's Reaping," she calls. There is some nervous chatter and she continues, smiling.

"Okay, let's get straight to the point. Let's choose the female tribute."

She walks briskly to the glass bowl and put her hand in, confidently pulling out a name almost immediately. That's what I like about our escort, she gets straight to the point. No telling us how exciting it all is or incredible to be picked. She's no fool; she knows as well as any how districts like ours feel about the Games.

"Andromeda Robins!" she calls loudly over the crowd.

My first response is _oh great. I'm gonna die. _Oddly enough, I don't feel scared right now. Shocked, of course. How could it be me? Disappointed. I have a good life here. Sad. I'm not sure I'm ready to die. And strangely glad that Adam is too old to be in the Hunger Games. He might try to volunteer for me, and I'm not sure I could bear that.

I avoid all the horrified looks of my friends and step out of the crowd, walking up to the front. I can't see Luke or Adam from where I'm standing, which I'm kind of glad about. Seeing their horror would probably make me start crying. And a crying tribute never wins. They're just seen as weak. I need to play to my strengths. I'm funny, and quite confident. I can make people like me. Easily.

"Hello," greets the escort kindly, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder and guiding me to face the crowd. I gulp quietly once then begin to act. I'll have to retain this act all through the Games.

"Hi! I'm Andromeda Robins, and I'm fifteen. I shouldn't be too bad at this - I hope." I give a funny grimace of mock terror and I hear some quiet chuckles from the crowd. District 8 isn't the most eloquent district at the best of times, so this gives me hope.

"Thank you very much! Okay, let's pick the male tribute!" Tricia announces, giving me a chance to gulp in air and compose myself when there's no one watching. I barely register what is going on next apart from the fact a red haired freckled boy is jogging to the front, but my mind seems to have zoned out.

"Tributes, shake hands!" is the next thing I register, and I quickly grasp the boy's hand, shaking it quickly. His is solid and warm. Just like Luke, I think.

The Peacekeepers march us to the District Building, which unlike everything else, is always kept clean and polished. I am shown to an empty room and sit down heavily on a bench in the middle of the room, feeling the weight go out from under me. I stay like that for a few minutes, just taking it all in. I'm glad they don't make you get straight on the train, smiling and looking excited even when you're really really scared. Giving you an hour to compose yourself and say goodbyes is strangely kind.

"Andromeda," I hear the familiar voice of my brother say, and my head jolts up immediately. I waste no time running to him and burying my head deep in my elder brother's chest. He's the only family I have left.

"You'll win, And. You have to. You have to come back to me," Adam tells me fervently, looking me in the eyes.

"I'll - I'll try. I really will," I promise, trying to believe I mean it. "Carry on with your inventing."

"This isn't goodbye. When you come back I'll have built up my business and we'll be able to afford a lot more. A new dress, maybe?

Tears come to my eyes but I smile, blinking them angrily away. "That would be great."

He hugs me a final time and I wonder if I'll ever see my brother again as he is forced to retreat out of the door, looking back at me again once before disappearing out of sight.

The next visitors I have are my three best friends, tumbling over each other to get to me. Clarisse, Freya and Amelie. They all have tears in their eyes as they hug me tightly in turn.

"Oh God, Andi," Amelie whispers in my ear as she hugs me.

"Hey," I joke weakly. "You're all acting as if I'm already dead. Have a little faith, please."

"Yes. Of course," says Freya, but she doesn't look very convinced. None of them do. And neither do I.

"You have to try win. Win for us." Clarisse announces sternly. I smile.

"I'll try."

"Okay, your time's up," says a Peacekeeper from outside. I extend my arms quickly to my best friends.

"Group hug?" They waste no time in cramming in and squeezing me as tightly as they can so I cam barely breathe.

"The idea's - not to get crushed before I get to the arena!" I tell them in a gasp. They all laugh, then are led away by a white-clad Peacekeeper. There goes my last aspect of normality.

I'm not sure if I'll get any more visitors, but as I have my eyes closed trying to adjust my mind to my new situation, I hear footsteps on the floor and I realise it's Luke. I waste no time in standing up and hugging him tightly, feeling my tears finally start to fall. Just when Luke and I were getting close...

"You'll win." His voice is calm and secure and I hug his warm body, feeling safe in that brief moment.

"I'll try."

Luke bends in and kisses me gently on the cheek, lightly and easily. But his expression is so sad, so so sad.

"I'm gonna have to fight," I murmur into his shoulder.

"You've fought before."

"I'm gonna have to kill."

Luke positions me in front of him and gives me a firm look. "I'm rooting for you. I know you can win. I'm sure of it."

I hope he's right. I sincerely do.

* * *

><p><strong>Name<strong>: Maroka Ring

**Age**: 16

**District**: 8

I take a deep breath, then duck underwater, feeling the warm caress of the water swishing around my body. I stay under there for a while, enjoying the peace that you could only get below the surface of the lake. My cropped thin messy red hair floats in waves under the water above my head and I grin despite myself. I love being underwater. Why no one in my district sees that I don't know.

I know even before my waterproof watch beeps at me that it's almost time to leave. I come here religiously every morning, and try to make it back here at nights as well. The Reaping's today though, so I have to get home. Unfortunately. I surface the water again and shake my wet head, laughing happily as droplets of water spray everywhere from my wet strands of hair.

I'm a little obsessed with swimming; it's my passion. I just seem to get really excited about it. Ever since I was 3, I wished that I lived in District 4, with its beautiful and vast ocean, wonderful people, and rich life. I want to swim in the ocean, to pet sharks, to run down beaches. I've never swum in the ocean, it's my dream. There's so much water. I dream grandly about a future in 4, determined to one day live there. I don't think I can bear to stay in 8 all my life. No one understands my love for water, my family tries to deter me and the kids from the school just think me rude, obnoxious and a prick. But I can't help it if they don't share my love for swimming.

The life in District 8 is boring, monotonous, and dry to me. Grey buildings, black smog, white peacekeepers, faded clothing. Working in the looms, working in the factories, working in the silk fields, working working working...  
>Oh how I wish for a better atmosphere, more color, more money, less work, and definitely more water. That's part of the reason I always try to distance myself from my pitiful District, from the drabness and dirt and dryness. The only place in the district i find promising is the small lake I found in the outskirts of District 8 a few years ago. No one ever comes here, but I come here twice, three times a day, whenever I can get away. Which is increasingly less now, so I only have time for a really long swimming session every other week. Not enough, in my opinion.<p>

Really I've always considered myself a District 4 citizen at heart. I've had a love and fascination with water and swimming, ever since I swam in the one, tiny lake in the outskirts of the factory-packed District when i was a kid and I ran away from Peacekeepers. The only place to hide was in the water. Since then, I've constantly snuck back into the lake to swim properly every other week for years. Nothing could deter me any more —not even whippings, or being thrown in a detention center for problematic teens as my mother and the Peacekeepers have threatened me with so many times. Really I don't see why. Spending all my time swimming would be normal in District 4. It doesn't make me problematic in my opinion. At least I have a hobby that I enjoy unlike many of these other kids with no interests at all.

As I climb out of the water I shake the droplets of water off my body, enjoying the cool sensation of being wet. I'm quite tall at 5'10, with compact, decently sized muscles gained from swimming so often. Another benefit of swimming. Why don't they see that? I have a fairly squared face, with a pointed chin and nose, thick eyebrows, and sharp brown eyes. I have thin, layered messy red hair, and am covered in freckles. By far the most unsettling thing people find about me is that my teeth are naturally uneven and pointed, giving me the look of a predator. I quite like it though. Gives me a nice unsettling smile.

I know I have to get home. I dry myself off with the thin towel I keep under an overhang of rocks next to the lake and stuff it back out of sight under the rocks. Then I pull some blue trousers on over my swimming trunks and pull on an aqua blue t-shirt. That's traditional District 4 wear, and I wear practically nothing else other than the colour blue in some form.

I daydream about District 4 as I make my way automatically home, my body subconsciously knowing where to go without me having to concentrate or anything. I am in the middle of a complex daydream where I am lying on the beach with a lot of pretty 4 girls wearing short light blue sundresses gathering around me. Understanding me. Liking me. For who I am. Then I hear the sounds of my house in full turmoil and am jolted out of my dreams into the harsh reality.

As I make my way inside, I hear my mum fussing around over Kora's hair. Ever since my father died my mother has been a tired irritable woman who has to work to the bone to provide our family with food and shelter. She works evenings and early mornings in the textiles factory to earn money. She gets especially exasperated when it comes to me; she considers me to just blow off responsibilities to just swim all the time. My argument is that in 4, swimming is an important responsibility. She always replies sharply that I'm not in 4, I live in 8 so I better buckle down.

Reluctantly I make my way into the kitchen where my mother is braiding Kora's long red hair into a long tight braid. My 14 year old little sister, Kora, looks like a fusion of me and our mother. She is very upbeat and polite, yet hardworking and firm. She claims to pick up my slack, taking up working in the textile factory part-time to help put food on the table. She says shes sometimes fond of me but she has the same straight minded view as Mum and thinks I have an incredibly stupid obsession. Both of them wish I would join the factory and think I'm selfish for making them do all the work and bring in all the money. But I'm not joining the monotonous drab factory. I want colour and beaches and water.

Dad never really stopped me from swimming. He knew of my obsession but my father died in a factory incident when I was 8. Dad always taught me to be confident in myself, and find something i love. When I told him that love was water he told me to go for it. But his own advice evidently backfired in a horrible way.

"Maroka? Are you listening to me?" shouts Mum in my ear. I shake my head out of the daydreams and scowl.

"What?"

"We're going to the Reaping. Now."

"Okay, okay," I say annoyed. Mum riles my temper up so much. And she wonders why I give her cheek.

Kora is bustling around piling up plates from the table and putting them next to the grey sink. She rolls her eyes at me.

"You just gonna stand around looking gormless?" she asks sharply. My sister has a sharp tongue sometimes. She is overworked but I'm still not joining the factory.

"No," I answer and walk out of the door. My house is very grey and drab as well, like most homes in District 8. I hate it.

.* * * * * * * *

The girl is standing on the stage speaking in a tremulous voice. She is scared but still trying not to show it. The woman on stage is announcing the male tribute now, smiling and stepping over to the glass bowl in the centre of the stage. She's picking a name out. She's unfolding the slip. She's reading -

"Maroka Ring!" she announces.

I find myself smiling. I really don't care. And this might give me a chance to show to the world how much I should be a 4 citizen. I grin widely, showing my teeth, and burst into sardonic laughter. I jog up to the stage, waving to the cameras as I go and jump up onto the stage, giving a sarcastic salute to the crowd when I'm onstage. In District 4 the crowd would love that. The Career districts love a bit of crazy confidence. But here I am met with stony silence. No one understands me. No one understands my love for water, my wish to be a District 4 citizen, my wish to be unique. Not just another grey guy bent double in the factory, dying an early death. Like my father. But they will understand soon.

I'll prove it to them all.


	12. Chapter 9 - District 9 Reapings

**Chapter 9 - District 9 Reapings**

**Name: **Evangelina Lombardi

**Age:** 15

**District:** 9

I sit quietly in my seat, my head supported on my desk by my free arm, ignoring the chatter and laughing around me as I always do. My shoulder-length blonde hair hangs around my face, I try to make it cover as much as I can. The teacher is letting us work independently today, and for me that always means -

"Hey Evan! Where's your sister? Not - dead, surely?" It's Veronica talking in her spiteful voice, cackling at the end. They're making fun of me because my twin sister was Reaped and died in last year's Hunger Games. And for a while, I tried not to believe it, not to accept it. My twin couldn't be dead. She was only fourteen. And for a while, I yelled at anyone who told me otherwise. Of course, Veronica and her cronies take advantage of that. Even exactly a year later. On the day of the 24th Reapings.

"It's Evangelina, actually. Only my friends call me Evan," I shoot back, but calmly.

"Oh, okay then Evan."

"And you're not my friend," I remind her cuttingly.

"Only your precious twin was your friend, wasn't she? Your precious Emilia?"

"Yes. She was the only true friend I had." Normally I wouldn't tell them this but since I know what I'm doing today, I really don't care.

"Ooh, the only true friend I had..." Veronica mimics my voice in a squeaky way, making fun of me. I clench my fists but say nothing.

"What's the matter? Has the butcher's girl lost her tongue? C'mon meaty, speak up!" says Veronica right down my ear.

"I heard she only eats the old disgusting meat that no one else wants," says one girl snidely somewhere to the right of Veronica.

"I heard that she helps out in her father's disgusting butchers shop every day!" joins in another.

Veronica looks me directly in the eye. "I heard her sister was killed by her own district partner - on live tv."

I hiss. I can't help it, it just slips out. I was forced to watch her death on live tv, in school. She was very much a Bloodbath tribute, she hadn't had any training and she was very pale and slim, exactly like me. We both shared our emerald green eyes.

Pushing the thought of her out of my mind, I retort calmly but angrily. "You all know the first statement is completely absurd. The second one I'm not afraid to admit. I love helping out in the butcher's. And the third statement..." I pause. They wait hungrily, like vultures, for my reaction.

"You already know the answer to that," I finish quietly. Just then the bell goes and I am the first to swing my bag up onto my shoulder, push my chair in and head quickly for the door. I have no room for memories. Not today.

I break into a fast run fifty metres from the concrete block that they call a school. I can be an extremely fast runner if I want to, my slim but toned limbs and lean body helping me build up speed. I have an athletic figure with decent muscle mass on my legs and shoulders as well. I swing my rucksack onto my back as I run home, barely feeling the weight of it bouncing on my back. My home's not far away anyway, I live fairly close to the town square, which helps me on Reaping day.

_But it didn't help Emilia, _a snide voice tells me.

_No, but I'm ready this time. Ready for anything, _I tell it determinedly.

_What if Max gets Reaped? What will you do then? _

Even in my head I had no answer to that one. I shake my blond hair out of my face and try to pretend I'm not arguing with myself inside my head.

_Arguing with yourself is fine, except when you lose. Then it gets really weird, _my mind/voice/conscience tells me helpfully. I decide not to answer that one. It's something Emilia used to say.

I reach our house in no time. With it being District 9, it's nothing special. But my father is the town's butcher, so the front of our house is the small cosy front room that we use for our shop. Lombardi's Meat. It was my great grandfather's shop originally. It's been passed down from generation to generation, and now my father is teaching me and Max to run it. How to speak politely and helpfully to customers, knife skills in chopping meat and good preserving of meats for the winter. He used to to teach Emilia once upon a long time ago as well, when Max was only young.

I make my way into the side entrance of the shop, where our deliveries usually come in. Hunters from the district who get their best trades here bring us our produce. My father is a fair man; he pays them well.

At the counter there is no one to be seen. This doesn't surprise me. It's the Reapings. No one wants meat on the morning of the Reapings. Because there's always two families who wont be feeling like celebrating that night. This afternoon, maybe, once everyone's got over their worry and are relieved that it's not them, they're safe for another year, then they'll want meat. My father will be preparing for that rush of customers we usually get around this time. I remember Dad teaching us that last year, a week or so before the Reaping. When Emilia was still here. Before she was Reaped.

I dimly wonder where Max is, but dismiss his absence to probably being with our mum Monika preparing for his first ever Reaping. Max was only eleven when Emilia died, but he feels her death as keenly as me. He has more of her traits than mine, her patience and sunny optimism, her ability to stay calm under pressure and the way she could always smile and make everything all right. We looked the same with our blond hair and startling emerald green eyes, which Max also has.

"Hey there," I hear my father greet me as he walks in. He sets a slab of meat down on the chopping board and grins at me. "Not getting dressed for the Reaping?"

"I see no reason to celebrate the event that took my twin's life from me," I reply.

Dad nods. "You don't have to like it. Just accept it. There's barely a chance that you'll be Reaped. And we can't bring back the dead. As much as I want to desperately."

_ If only you knew, Dad, _ I think. _If only you knew._

Dad starts chopping up the large slab of meat on the counter. Without a word I get a knife and join him, methodically starting to chop the meat into managable sections. I am skilled with the meat knives, I have used them all my life.

"Business is slow now, but after the Reapings..." my dad says, not finishing his sentence. We both know the peak times of when people come to buy meat. And the busiest time is after the Reapings.

"After the Reapings we will get money," I finish. I don't look up. Looking my innocent father in the eyes will cause me to lose resolve. And that's something I can't let myself do.

"That's right." A pause as my father finishes chopping the deer leg and puts the mutilated remains to one side.

"I miss her too."

I don't know what to say. _ Don't look up. Don't look up._

"She was so strong. Didn't even cry or protest or anything when she was first Reaped."

"I know," I answer shortly. Sometimes I wish she had argued more, made a stand against her fate. Not just put her head down and let it come.

"Then in the chariot..." Mark continues, his voice wistful. "She looked so beautiful. Not like my little girl at all."

We were identical twins, more or less. I tended to wear my hair down, shoulder-length and free, while Emilia was happy to spend longer in front of the mirror tying her hair up into elaborate hairstyles, her favourite being braids. I remember in the chariot parade she wore a long flowing cream dress with her hair braided on top of her head. She would have loved that outfit, I remember thinking that when I watched her in the chariot, unwavering and perfectly calm. She was beautiful. Beautiful and very different.

"I wish she could be here now. That she could have won..." my father says softly, his voice full of emotion.

"I'm sorry, Father. I should go - prepare for the Reaping," I say quickly, putting down the carving knife I hold and hurrying from the room, still avoiding looking at him. I can't deal with this now. The Reaping is in fifteen minutes, and I need to stay focused.

* * *

><p>I don't need to be too fast. It's District 9, after all. We're not Careers. No one's excited about the Reapings, chattering about it with glee in their voices and a gleam in their eyes. No one's particularly terrified either. We're not a massively poor District, not like 11 or 12. Most of us don't even need to sign up for tesserae.<p>

I hear from my place at the back of the crowd that the woman on-stage is announcing something, probably how exciting this year's Reaping is. Then she steps to the glass bowl and puts her hand in.

"Amélie Rogas!" is the name that's called. I take a deep breath. _This is it._

_Emilia, this is for you._

I see a tiny twelve year old trembling with terror, her eyes wide and nearly smile. She must be this Amelie, Reaped. She would have no chance in the Hunger Games. A Bloodbath tribute, no doubt. At least I'll be doing something good for someone's family.

I step forward, out of the crowd so I can be both heard and seen.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

* * *

><p><strong>Name: <strong>Samuel (Sam) Salazar

**Age: **16

**District: **9

I don't know why I'm so cautious. I'm standing tentatively outside the large concrete block that passes as a hospital here, feeling nervous. This building just seems to fill me with unexplainable fear every time.

But I have to visit my mother.

My footsteps are loud and clanking on the thin concrete floor. It's cold here, the heat seems to be leeched out by the freezing concrete walls. I force myself to look confident, to walk without faltering. My long slightly muscular legs help with my long stride, but it's difficult to maintain that easy gait when I know where I'm going. What I know is my duty to do. Just as my brother attempted to do before me.

I pause outside one door, but just one glimpse of the sunken eyes, the frail limbs and the endlessly shaking bodies in that ward causes me to hurry up again. The Hunger Ward, as we call it. Our hunger overall isn't as bad as District Eleven especially, but maybe I'm biased. I never really tend to go hungry since my father is the district baker. I consider myself as middle class as we can afford fairly nice clothes and a decent enough house. Yet I've never seen the luxury of the Capitol. I guess that's gonna change.

I reach the end of the corridor. I stop. Read the sign, as I always do, just to make sure this is the right ward. That I'm in the right place.

'High Intensive Care Unit (HICU)'.

Yup, the right place all right. I compose myself, yelling at myself internally to relax, to look calm and fearless. My brother always said I had a lot to learn. Well I'm learning now, Stefan.

I'm inside. A row of grey drawn curtains greet me, as they always do. In this ward there's no talking, no laughing. Just quiet moans every so often and endless beeps from monitors. I know exactly which curtain to pull back by now - after some unfortunate incidents trying to find my mum when I first came to visit her - and put my hand on that curtain, ready to pull them apart. Composing myself one last time. Putting on my mask, as I think of it.

"Sam?" a hoarse voice rasps from behind the curtain.

"Mum," I answer, putting on my well practised smile and pulling the curtain across, quickly slipping inside and closing the curtain behind me.

She looks worse than when I last saw her. Her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, and her shaking limbs. She looks so frail in the giant hospital bed, so pale against the crisp white sheets. Well, grey sheets. It's District 9, after all.

"Sam," she repeats, her voice soft and croaking. Unlike my mum's old voice in all proportion. She is reaching out a frail bony arm, so thin that you can see the bone showing through the skin.

I force myself not to grab it, to hold it tight. I have to be strong. I am the last chance my mother has. "It's the Reapings today, Mum."

"My brave boy..." she whispers. "Isn't Stefan coming to see me? He hasn't been for so long..."

Lies. Put on your mask, Sam. "He's working, Mum." She doesn't know he went into the Hunger Games. Not by chance, either. To save her. To get medicine for her. Before he died.

"I'll be starting work too, Mum. I won't be able to come as often." Better to explain my absense on work than on the Hunger Games. She can't know I'm doing this.

"Like Stefan?"

"Yes - Mum. Like Stefan." My voice shakes and I turn away so she won't see the indecision in my eyes.

"You're a good boy. How's the bakery doing?"

"Dad is well. We're working well. More bread than ever." Keep to short sentences. Don't show her your fear.

"Good. It's been so long since I had bread like that..." her voice is wistful.

"One day, Mum. Soon you shall eat bread again, and laugh and sing and play."

"You're a good boy, Sam. So much like Stefan..."

"Yes. He was - is a true inspiration to me." Me and my brother shared our curly black hair, green eyes and tanned skin. He looked very handsome in the Games on his chariot. Charismatic in the interviews. Deadly in the arena. And eventually cold and stiff in death.

"You don't worry now," she tells me. "Don't worry about me. Keep working."

"I will Mum. I'll make you better. One day."

"Good - boy..." She is drifting into sleep now.

"Bye Mum," I whisper, before leaving the sleeping body inside the grey curtains. Will I ever see her again? I intend to win the Hunger Games, to save my mother, but so did Stefan. He was murdered by a Career halfway through the Games. Will I be any more successful than he was? One things for sure, I am now an only child. I am my mother's last hope. If I don't win, don't win the money to help my mother, she will die.

I make my way out of the grim concrete block of the hospital, musing to myself. I am scared, there's no denying that. I'm not trained, though I do have some skills with a scythe and a little with knives from helping in the bakery. I'm good at hiding and climbing, but I'm not a fast runner. And if I admit it to myself, I don't really want to kill people. I'm not a murderer.

I debate going to some people's houses to drop off some bread and spare food, as I'm liked at school by everyone who knows me. I'm quite kind, which might make me a target in the Games. And, since I've had to look after my mother since she fell ill when I was young, even before she went into the hospital, I like to take care of the people in need in the community. They need food, and I try to supply some. But I realise it's nearly Reaping time now. An hour, no more. People will already be gathering in the square. So I guess it's time. Time to volunteer.

* * *

><p>I am very surprised. I knew I was volunteering, but I wasn't expecting anyone from the females to volunteer. There's hardly ever a volunteer in District 9, let alone two. I recognise her, she's the butchers daughter. We tend to know each other, just in passing as we're both in trade, sometimes trading in the market if there's no Peacekeepers around. What's she doing volunteering?<p>

She's quite pretty. She's standing on the stage now, smiling slightly. I can hear a shocked gasp from the crowd and assume someone's not been told about her volunteering.

"I'm Evangelina Lombardi. I'm 15 and last year, my sister Emilia was Reaped. I'm doing this both to avenge her death and to prove people at school wrong. I am worth something." Her voice is calm and calculated.

Oh. So that's why.

I prepare to run up to the stage, to shout my intentions. I remember this time last year, knowing my brother was going up. The fear I had. The knowledge that he could die.

"The male tribute is -" I hear, and jolt out of my daydreams, blinking. "Brendan De -"

"I volunteer!" I shout. There is a bit of chatter, people aren't expecting two volunteers. Neither was I. But I have to save my mother. She will laugh and sing again.


End file.
